


The Ways in Which We Fall

by creeshtar



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Drabble Collection, Fantasy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, M/M, Romance, So Little Time, Violence, so many different aus, these drabbles are all over the place let me tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 33,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creeshtar/pseuds/creeshtar
Summary: A collection of drabbles written over the course of a month which detail the ways they fall and the ways they love.





	1. Feelings by Flowerlight

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr @stories-in-the-stars, then you'll know that for the month of November, I wrote a series of drabbles based on the wonderful inktober art of @rendevok! Her art will accompany the stories here, and I'll provide links to the original posts so y'all can give her the love she deserves. In the meantime, I hope y'all enjoy these stories!
> 
> This very first drabble is a sort of sequel to my current multi-chapter fic, The Fallen and the Wandering. You don't need to have read it to enjoy this first drabble, but extra context never hurts, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small sequel to my current multi-chapter fic, The Fallen and the Wandering. You don't need to read it to enjoy this drabble, but extra context never hurts, right?
> 
> In which Keith and Lance go on a date to a sunflower field.

The sunflower fields of those darker times were not the popular attraction they had once been, particularly in the daylight. Lance insisted they go anyways, before the sun set so that they could watch the sunflowers glow brighter and brighter as night fell. After all, Keith had never gone to the sunflower fields before, in spite of Lance's frequent invitations. Now that they were together (which still sounded weird in Keith's head, but not in a bad way), there was no escaping it. There would be a date in the sunflower fields, and Keith could do nothing about it.

 

He didn't mind though, not as Lance practically skipped down the sidewalk towards the field they'd agreed to go to. Sunflowers lined the road, shimmering faintly even in the glaring sunlight. Keith still wasn't quite used to sunlight, but Lance had taken to it easily, undeterred and as bright as ever. Sometimes, when the world around him seemed overbright and too colorful, Keith looked to Lance, who had always been that way, even when the Earth was dark and dying. There, at least, was some sense of normalcy, some sense that, so long as he was by Lance's side, everything would be alright.

 

"Are you excited?" Lance asked when they reached the entrance to the field.

 

This particular field was fashioned in the shape of a maze. Keith didn't quite get the appeal, but Lance seemed convinced it would be fun, so he let himself be tugged along (not that he was completely against the idea anyways, so long as Lance would be there with him).

 

Still, Keith shrugged. "I don't know. I've seen the fields from above plenty of times--"

 

"It's not the same, trust me," Lance interrupted. "They're nice from a distance, but when it's dark and the only light around you is from the sunflowers... I don't know, it just feels nice."

 

Privately, Keith thought that that was how he felt around Lance, but he wasn't quite ready to say anything quite so sappy out loud yet, so instead he let Lance take him by the hand and lead them into the sunflower maze.

 

Entries into the maze were spaced out, so their walk was quiet, free from the chatter of other people (not that there'd been many here in the first place). The wind made a shushing sound as it swept through the sunflowers, and Keith breathed the air deeply. There was a light, fresh fragrance to the air, one that made him feel at ease. He twined his fingers together with Lance's, thinking that he would have to plan an especially good date in the future because this? Was absolutely perfect.

 

Lance lead the way the entire time, and Keith was content to let him. Eventually, they came across a clearing, complete with picnic tables and all. Lance hummed, the first sound he'd made since they started walking, and set his bag down on one of the tables. The sun was starting to set now, the telltale hues of brilliant oranges bleeding into dusty purples painting streaks across the clouds above them. Around them, the sunflowers shined a little brighter.

 

In his bag, Lance had apparently brought them a light dinner, and Keith was once more thinking that whatever date he planned next was going to have to be as thoughtful and wonderful as this. Even more so, Keith told himself, because in his eyes Lance deserved it. He had never considered himself a romantic type of person, but, Keith was thinking that if romance was simply wanting another person to be happy, then, well, he was suddenly the most romantic person in the world. Sometimes it felt weirdly selfish, given that seeing Lance happy made a well of soft emotions spring up deep within Keith's chest, especially on days where Keith could hardly bring himself to be accommodating or even nice. It was like his own happiness depended on Lance's--Shiro had assured him that was just what being in a good relationship was like.

 

"What's on your mind?" Lance asked, though they had both been silent for some time now.

 

Keith smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing. I was just thinking..."

 

Lance waited for only a few seconds before prompting, "Was there more to that thought?"

 

"I'm really happy to be here with you, Lance," Keith finished abruptly.

 

Lance blinked, his wide blue eyes seeming deep as the oceans themselves in the low light. Keith didn't begrudge him the surprised expression. Keith himself was still getting used to this whole "using words to express how you're feeling" thing. It surprised him just as much as it did Lance.

 

But then Lance smiled so sweetly that Keith felt his heart melting. "I'm happy too, Keith. More happy than I knew was possible. Even more happy knowing you feel the same--"

 

"Alright, alright!" Keith wheezed, his ears burning so hotly he was certain they were glowing.

 

"Aw, you're getting shy already?" Lance teased, leaning forward across the table between them.

 

"Shut up," Keith mumbled from behind his hands. "You've used up your one allotted instance of genuine emotion from me for the day. Check again tomorrow."

 

Lance laughed loudly at that, the sound of it almost muted by the walls of sunflowers that surrounded them. To Keith, it was just as vibrant as it had been the day they met.

 

 

"Hey," Lance said, pulling Keith's hands away from his face. "I love you, you know?"

 

Keith couldn't help but grin, equal parts bashful and happy and a whole jumble of other wonderful things.

 

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the marvelous art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Boa-bCdnof2/


	2. By a Snow White Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An almost Snow White AU with a touch more magic than before ;D

Even as a sheltered princeling, Lance knew that there were certain dangers associated with the forest that loomed at the border of the capital. He'd only ever heard stories--some relative of a palace servant's friend or something. The stories told of snarling beasts and hungry shadows and other such horrors that might prevent someone from coming back out once they'd gone in. As it was, compared to what was chasing him now, all of those stories were the least of Lance's worries.

 

He'd been running for so long his lungs were burning. He wouldn't be able to keep this up. Lance had hoped that the mage chasing him would be too superstitious to follow Lance into the forest, that he would consider Lance as good as dead in the forest. But, Lance thought in retrospect, Keith had always been too sensible for such tall tales. Or too stupid.

 

Stupid, of course, was the last thing Lance wanted to call Keith at the moment. The wound on his arm stung horribly, and would likely be worse once he was out of danger. If he ever got to that point, anyways. Certainly, he and Keith had never gotten along very well, but there had at least, Lance thought, been some sort of mutual respect between them. Becoming a royal mage was not something that happened on accident, Lance knew, and so always sort of admired Keith for his tenacity and talent. On the other hand, any respect Keith had for Lance was likely borne from Lance's status as a prince. It was only what was required of a royal mage, Lance knew. Perhaps that was why Keith had no mercy now.

 

Once Lance was deep within the dark of the forest, such that the sun hardly penetrated through the trees anymore, he ducked behind a tree, hoping that he could hide, if only for a few moments. His nails were digging into the soft bark as he tried in vain to steady his too-loud breathing. Meanwhile his thoughts were just as loud--why was Keith doing this? Was it because Lance had teased him too often, made fun of his hair one too many times? Was Keith even that petty?

 

 

His breath caught in his through as a flicker of light sliced through the trees. Keith was close. Lance's heart was hammering so hard against his ribs that he wasn't entirely sure that that wasn't how Keith was tracking him. If only he could quiet it for long enough to run to safety.

 

The light grew brighter and brighter, though not a sound was made along with it. Lance dared to peek around his hiding place, to see if it was Keith after all, or if Lance had happened upon some traveler or other. He was desperately hoping for the latter. Alas, it was Keith, a ball of steady flames held aloft in the palm of his hand. He didn't call out for Lance--even his footsteps were deadly silent. Lance whipped back behind the tree, hoping that Keith kept walking on by Lance's hiding spot.

 

At first, it seemed as though Lance would be safe after all. The light, which had been casting stark shadows the closer it got to where Lance was hiding, was now fading into the darkness. Finally, Lance was alone once more in the darkness, and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He would live another day.

 

Or so he thought.

 

Just when he thought it was safe to move, a streak of flames zipped far too close to his face. Shrieking, Lance took to running again, but without a reliable light source of his own, it was only a matter of time before he lost his footing. His foot caught on a gnarled tree root, painfully twisting his ankle and sending him sprawling. Behind him, the light was bright, close enough that he could feel the warmth of Keith's flame. Lance flipped onto his back and tried to scurry away, only to be backed into a tree.

 

So this was it, Lance thought. Keith's face was impassive as he advanced on the terrified prince, almost bordering on irritation as it usually was.

 

"Please..." Lance whimpered pathetically. "Please, don't do this."

 

"I have to," Keith whispered, something other than fire flickering in his eyes.

 

He raised his hand, ready to strike. "I have to do this," Keith repeated.

 

But Keith's hand, which had only moments before been steady, was now trembling almost imperceptibly. Lance held his breath in anticipation, eyes flicking from the hand ready to strike him down, and the face that said it wasn't sure it wanted to. For the first time it occurred to Lance that perhaps this wasn't borne from any ill-will on Keith's part.

 

"You don't want to do this," Lance said.

 

"I have to!" Keith insisted, hand clenching around his flames. Rather than be extinguished, the fire morphed into a sword-like shape.

 

"Why?!" Lance demanded grasping for anything that might save him a precious few more minutes.

 

"It's none of your business," Keith growled.

 

Lance scowled. "Oh, sure, it's only my life you're trying to douse but it's none of my business."

 

Keith's eyebrows furrowed. His expression, for the first time, was uncertain, hesitant. His hand was still raised, poised to strike. Perhaps Lance couldn't beat Keith in a fight, but he could talk. He was told he was good at that.

 

"You don't seem like the sort of person to be paid off to do something like this," Lance quickly said. "And you're obviously not satisfying some grudge of your own--someone has something on you--"

 

"Shut up!" Keith snarled. "It doesn't matter!"

 

"It does so matter! You're not a murderer, Keith!"

 

That, thankfully, seemed to strike a chord with Keith. His hand dropped gently, the sword reverting to a small flame, barely larger than a candle flame.

 

"Maybe I can help you...?" Lance tried.

 

"You can't help me," Keith said. "But you're right... I can't kill you. But I can't not kill you either."

 

"What if--" Lance started. "What if I just disappeared?"

 

Keith looked at Lance at that. "Unless you have a spare heart I can show them, I don't think that's going to work."

 

Lance's stomach churned at that. "They--they want you to cut out my heart?!"

 

"They know I'm not a murderer either. I guess they knew I'd chicken out," Keith lamented, slumping against another tree not too far from Lance.

 

"Who?"

 

But Keith shook his head. "It doesn't matter now."

 

Lance wasn't yet willing to give up, not when a second chance at life was staring him in the eyes after such a close encounter with death. He was beyond grateful that Keith had spared him, but he couldn't just let Keith deal with this on his own. After all, this did concern Lance--someone wanted him dead.

 

An idea popped into Lance's head then, so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash.

 

"Hey! I've got it! Do you think, whoever wants me dead, do you think they'll know the different between a human heart and a pig heart?!" Lance asked.

 

Keith's shocked expression was evident even in the low light. "I--I don't know. Do they look similar enough? How do you even know?"

 

Lance grinned cheekily at that. "Playing hooky has it's benefits. Anyways, you can get a pig's heart from a butcher easy, and I disappear, and everyone's happy, right? I mean, except for the part where everyone thinks I'm dead, but we can worry about that later."

 

Keith looked skeptical. "Why are you helping me? I just tried to kill you."

 

"True, but you didn't. I mean, whatever convinced you you had to kill me in the first place must be pretty serious, but you still decided to not kill me. Not to mention, I'll need your help in getting back at this person once your stuff has been settled, so..." Lance trailed off. He was all too aware he wasn't the most eloquent, particularly for a prince.

 

"Alright," Keith sighed anyways. "Alright--it's a good idea. As for where you can disappear to..."

 

Keith stood up, offering his other hand to help Lance up. Lance took it without hesitation, now convinced that Keith wasn't out to kill him.

 

"South of here, there's a cabin that hasn't been used in years. You should be able to hide out there until I can come back for you. No one will come looking for you in here, and especially not after I convince them you're dead anyways," Keith explained.

 

"What makes you so sure no one's using that cabin?" Lance asked.

 

Keith turned, ready to leave, his dark eyes glimmering in the soft light of his fire. "Because it's mine. It's near a stream, so if you get lost, just find the stream and follow it."

 

They were just about to part ways (or at least, Keith was already making his way out of the forest--Lance's legs were shaking too badly from sheer relief to go anywhere just yet), when Lance stopped Keith short.

 

"Thank you," he said. "For helping me."

 

Keith looked thoughtful at that. "Correct me if I'm wrong, your Highness, but I think it's me who should be thanking you."

 

"You can if the pig's heart works," Lance said.

 

"Alright then," Keith agreed, nodding slightly. "I'll be back for you."

 

"Promise?"

 

It felt childish, wanting some assurance that he wouldn't be left alone in the darkness of the woods for the rest of his life. Lance was all too aware that he'd lived a privileged lifestyle, never alone, and never without light and warmth. The prospect of suddenly living by himself in a forest that whispered of unknown frights scared Lance more than he wanted to admit.

 

"I promise," Keith assured him without hesitation. "I will be back for you."

 

And without another word, Keith left, bringing his light with him. Lance was then truly and utterly alone in the dark of the forest. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and hug himself tightly, his relief almost consuming him entirely. But he had to move. He couldn't let this opportunity go to waste.

 

More importantly, he had to be ready for when Keith returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Boc8TxpnhI8/


	3. Fools of the Lovestruck and Fearful Variety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Halloween themed AU in which Keith and Lance are just slightly in for more than they bargained.

It was supposed to be fun, a good sort of "whoever gets scared first has to buy dinner" type of thing. Given the stakes, Lance and Keith were both determined to one up each other, in spite of their equally superstitious natures.

 

And it had started out fun.

 

They traipsed through one haunted house after another, refusing to admit that they were scared even as they were clinging to each other. At the end of each, they'd come out breathless with laughter and denying that they had been truly spooked even once. But the hour was getting late, and neither of them were giving in. They had to find some way to make the other break, and what better way, they agreed, than going through a house that was rumored to be truly haunted?

 

Every town had their local myths and legends. Theirs just happened to be a haunted house. It looked as though it had once been a grand estate, being large and having some property on the lake, but it was now in ruins. The paint was peeling on the outside, the windows were all boarded up, the lawn was overflowing with weeds. The trees surrounding it made it look particularly sinister, as the moonlight cast their stark shadows over it. There was no agreed upon story as to what, exactly, had happened to this place, but it was agreed upon that this was the sort of house that people died in.

 

"You sure this is a good idea? We could be arrested for trespassing," Keith said as they made their way up the gravel driveway.

 

Lance snorted. "What, you're scared already?"

 

"I'm not scared!"

 

"Uh-huh, sure," Lance drawled.

 

Keith knew Lance was taunting him, he always did. But Keith, like always, couldn't help but take the bait. Steeling himself, he marched right up to the front door ahead of Lance, and began pounding on the door.

 

"Hello! Any ghosts here?! Any malevolent spirits--!"

 

"Keith, Keith! What are you doing?!" Lance squealed.

 

"What, are you scared?" Keith mocked.

 

Before Lance could answer, the door swung open gently, as though pushed by a gentle breeze. They both froze.

 

"Nope, not me, I'm not scared," Lance insisted as he walked right through the open door. He turned and gestured to Keith. "Shall we?"

 

Keith stepped over the threshold, shivering slightly. It seemed colder inside, somehow. The air was stale and stagnant, thick with dust that had been kicked up from their entrance. Almost simultaneously, they flipped on their flashlights and looked around.

 

The place was bare of any furniture. All the carpets had been ripped up, leaving bare wood behind. Through some cracks in the boarded up windows, wind whistled in. Spooky, certainly, but not outright terrifying. Almost a let down, really.

 

"Alright, let's find some ghosts," Lance suggested, sounding almost bored.

 

"You think there's an attic?" Keith wondered aloud.

 

"Or maybe a basement," Lance suggested.

 

"Ghosts float, they're more likely to be in the attic," Keith argued.

 

"Yeah, but basements are where stuff gets left more often, or garages, and ghosts attach themselves to things, don't they? So, the basement, if there is one, would be our best--What was that?!"

 

As Lance had been rambling, Keith had very subtly reached around and brushed Lance's shoulder ever so lightly, so lightly he had worried that Lance wouldn't even feel. His shrieking assured Keith otherwise, and Keith could help but double over in laughter.

 

"I totally scared you!" Keith giggled.

 

"You did not!" Lance insisted indignantly. "Anyways, maybe we should split up--you check for an attic, and I'll look for a basement."

 

"Split up? You sure that's a good idea?"

 

As soon as the question left his mouth, Keith already knew what the rebuttal would be. He insisted once more that he was not scared, not in the slightest, and made his way towards the stairs, while Lance stayed downstairs to look for a possible basement. Without Lance by his side, the house seemed even colder. Sometimes he thought he heard something shuffling in the shadows--some rats, maybe? Large bugs?--but every time Keith shined his flashlight where he thought he heard something, there was nothing. He was just being paranoid, he assured himself.

 

It was at the end of the upstairs hallway that he found the entrance to the attack, though there was no way he was going to reach it without help. Perhaps, he decided, it was time to spook Lance again (and then maybe ask for his help getting into the attic).

 

Snickering, he made his way downstairs again, quietly, so that Lance wouldn't suspect anything. The stairs groaned slightly under him--it couldn't be helped. Keith hoped Lance didn't hear and suspect what Keith was up to. Keith could hardly stop himself from giggling. Lance's reactions were always priceless.

 

A quick look downstairs told Keith that Lance must've found a basement, and indeed a door near the kitchen that he hadn't noticed before was wide open, revealing a narrow staircase. Keith, not wanting to give himself away, turned off his flashlight and carefully felt his way down the stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom, he knew something was wrong.

 

It was dark. Of course it was dark, there were no windows down here, but if Lance was down here, it shouldn't have been completely dark. All thoughts of pranking aside, Keith became concerned.

 

"Lance?" he called out, flipping the switch on his flashlight. It didn't turn on. Hell of a time for it to burn out, he thought.

 

His first thought was that Lance's flashlight had also burned out, but he was met with nothing but silence.

 

"Lance, I know you're down here somewhere, so you're not going to be able to scare me," Keith said.

 

Up above, the door to the basement slammed shut, nearly startling Keith out of his skin. He scowled up the staircase.

 

"Not funny, Lance!" he shouted.

 

And yet there was still silence. Except--

 

"Keith?"

 

It sounded like Lance, only far too quiet. It sent shivers down Keith's spine.

 

"Lance, are you okay?" he asked, blindly feeling his way through the darkness.

 

"Keith..." Lance whimpered, sounding as though he might cry.

 

"Hold on, I'll find you, just keep talking to me!"

 

Several times Keith's hands found spiderwebs (thankfully free of spiders, as far as he could tell), and once or twice he'd tripped over things left in the basement: empty paint cans, spare wood... All the while following the sound of Lance's distressingly quiet voice. It almost didn't sound like him at all. Was he hurt? Keith tried to find out, but Lance seemed only capable of calling out his name, over and over.

 

Just when Keith thought things were pretty bad, they got infinitely worse.

 

"Keith?! Where are you?!" he heard a voice shout from upstairs. A voice that, unless he was very mistaken, sounded just like Lance.

 

His stomach twisted with fear, real fear, the kind that sat heavy in his gut and rooted him to the spot he stood. Nearby, Lance called his name again, desperate and weak.

 

"Lance?" he called out, quietly, so as to not draw the attention of whoever was upstairs. "Did--was there something down here?"

 

He heard Lance whimper, almost an assent, and Keith's blood ran cold. They needed to get out of here.

 

"Don't worry Lance," he whispered, trying to sound soothing. "We're going to get out of here. You're going to be alright."

 

Lance's voice sounded so close, Keith knew he had to be near. He was blindly reaching out, searching for Lance's warmth and falling short. Upstairs, he heard Lance calling out for him again, practically mirroring Keith's words from earlier--that this wasn't funny, that if Keith was trying to scare him again it wasn't going to work.

 

"Keith," Lance whispered, almost inaudible. "Are you afraid?"

 

Even in the dark, Keith nodded. "Terrified."

 

Suddenly Keith felt frigid, as the air around him seemed to drop several degrees. Something corporeal grabbed him, seizing him in every sense so that Keith couldn't even call out. The darkness before him deepened, his insides felt like static. An icy breath puffed against his neck, and next to his ear, a borrowed voice snickered.

 

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the wonderful art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bofk9IeH7bD/


	4. A Seasonal Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first drabble of the witch/familiar AU.

The forest seemed to shimmer as a light breeze coursed through it, the autumnal livery of the trees picturesque. It was a peaceful sort of day, the kind that encouraged one to take a deep breath of the crisp, cool air and revel in the quiet. The sky above was a brilliant blue, nearly blinding and sharply contrasting the fiery tones of the forest. And yet, the forest was completely devoid of anyone to properly appreciate it.

 

Save, of course, for a solitary figure dressed in deep blues and a pointed hat.

 

It was Lance's professional opinion that days like these ought to be enjoyed properly. As a witch, these things were important to him. Just as important, however, was his task of foraging for choice mushrooms and certain herbs that could only be found during the peak of the season. Not only did he need them for his livelihood--concocting spells and potions and remedies for those in need--he also liked having mushrooms in his meals, and it was good to stock up before the first frosts came.

 

But the wind shushing through the leaves urged him to slow down, smell the proverbial roses, maybe take a nap under a shady tree. Certainly Lance had a limited time frame in which to gather the things he wanted, and today was such a good day to do it--other days might be too cold, or too rainy, or something of the sort. And yet...

 

Lance eyed the leaves falling from the trees like snow, and decided that a small break wouldn't hurt. After all, he'd been foraging for at least an hour now, and though his basket was no where near full, he had the entire day to make it so. Besides, he always insisted, a little play was important for one's health (he sometimes even prescribed it to ailing customers who were simply bogged down by the routine and droll nature of their lives--such prescriptions always had one hundred percent satisfaction, Lance was pleased to say).

 

With a swish of his hand, Lance diverted the wind ever so slightly, so that the falling leaves swirled around him, and then fell gently into a neat pile. Several times he did this, until the piles of leaves very nearly bigger than he was. He was debating just how large he wanted to make the pile when a certain presence brushed the back of his mind. He grinned in anticipation, but did not look for the source. After all, this was very important work.

 

"Exactly how is this important?" a voice drawled in his head.

 

Lance looked away from his pile of leaves, towards a black cat that was slinking out from behind a tree. It sat down and regarded Lance was a steady, violet gaze.

 

"Keeps the forest healthy, to clear the leaves from the floor every once in a while," Lance said aloud, returning to his work.

 

The voice in his head hummed. "And it has nothing to do with putting off what you actually came out here to do?"

 

"I'm taking a break," Lance insisted. The cat flicked it's tail.

 

"You're going to complain if we run out of mushrooms mid-winter, and I'm going to have to deal with it."

 

"Yes, yes you will," Lance said. "But it's also important to enjoy season to their fullest."

 

"Ah, so you just want to play?"

 

Lance grinned at the cat again. "Yes."

 

He tossed a handful of leaves at the cat, which neatly dodged them all and daintily took a seat once more, tail swishing back and forth with mild interest.

 

"Really though, you shouldn't spend too much time on this," the cat pressed. "You said yourself the first frost is coming soon."

 

Lance groaned, and then stuck his tongue out at the cat. "You're no fun."

 

"One of us has to make sure the work gets done."

 

"Oh, is that why you're always a cat when I have to do boring stuff like this?" Lance scoffed.

 

"That has nothing to do with it. And anyways, I'm just a familiar, so--"

 

Before the cat could even think to react, Lance moved towards it with cat-like speed and grace and swept it up in his arms. It didn't try to get away, only adjusted itself so it was more comfortable in Lance's arms, remembering that Lance could be quite agile when he wanted to be.

 

Lance held the cat at eye-level, his expression serious. "Keith, you know you're more than a familiar to me, right?"

 

The cat blinked slowly. "I know."

 

Satisfied, Lance smiled once more and kissed the cat on the side of it's furry face, the long fur tickling his nose as he did. A loud pop then echoed through the forest, accompanied by a cloud of shimmering dust. When it cleared, Lance was no longer holding a cat, but a blushing young man about his age. He had the same violet eyes as the cat, and his inky black mane resembled the fur. He even had cat ears and a tail that swished back and forth keenly.

 

 

Lance burst into a fit of laughter. "I made you change forms!"

 

"You did not!" Keith protested. "I--I wanted to change forms!"

 

"What, so you can actually help me with my work today?" Lance teased.

 

Keith's eyes had a cat-like glimmer in them as he smirked. "No, I just thought it'd be easier to kiss you like this."

 

And before Lance could so much as even blush, Keith pushed him into the pile of leaves he'd worked so hard to create, following him down swiftly. Their lips met shortly after, warm and soft in the midst of the autumn chill. They smiled against each other, and soon enough were giggling and romping about the leaves with delighted fervor.

 

The work that needed to be done for the day was conveniently forgotten for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the wonderful art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Boiwrq3nvJ2/


	5. At the Ends of the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more abstract AU in which they both believe in a love that is sure to come.

Though occasionally they became lonely, that did not mean they were necessarily alone.

 

That said, the shepherds of the clouds and stars did not experience the sort of loneliness that befalls people unhappy with their lot in life. Rather, their loneliness was that of longing, for they knew that one day they would not be as alone as they were now. For each of them held to their breasts, not their own hearts, but the hearts of their true loves.

 

The cloud shepherd, with eyes as blue as the sky he sailed, held the heart of his love gently. It was a precious thing to him, and so was treated as such. Sometimes, when the day was slow and the clouds lingered, the cloud shepherd laid himself among the clouds and rested, warmed not by the sweet summer sun, but by the heart of his love. One day, when he finally met his love and returned to them their heart, they would hold him as sweetly and as warmly as this. Thus dreaming, the cloud shepherd slept, a smile gracing his sun-kissed face.

 

The star shepherd, with eyes of violet night, held tightly the heart of his love, scared that it may one day go away, leaving him alone with naught but the stars for company. It was only him in the vastness of night, after all. Him, and the heart of his love, which sometimes he thought caressed him as gentle as an evening breeze, assuring him that one day they would meet and return their hearts to one another. His love would not leave him, once found. Of that, the heart he held reassured him frequently, though it did not use words. And so the star shepherd slept, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

 

Thus their days and nights were spent, apart yet together, on opposite ends of the sky, dreaming of that blessed day when they would find each other and return their hearts. In tandem they wondered: what would their own heart feel like, beating in their own chest? More importantly, what would their love be like, held close to that heart they had so tenderly cared for all this time?

 

From their hearts, some answers were to be found, while others remained elusive.

 

For the cloud shepherd, who delighted in frivolity and things that made him laugh, the heart of his love was difficult to comprehend, particularly when he was younger. It was reluctant, but gentle. It felt things intensely, which was a thrill to the cloud shepherd--but it also meant, he found, that hurtful things hurt much worse. The heart of his love was a fragile thing. He did well to keep it from harm.

 

For the star shepherd, who was content to peacefully shuffle the stars across the sky (so long as he was not completely alone), the heart of his love seemed overly excitable and felt much brighter than anything save for perhaps the moon in the night sky (although privately the star shepherd thought that the heart of his love could outshine even the moon). I had been overwhelming at first, if he was honest. The heart of his love sometimes threatened to beat right out of his chest if he did not hold it dearly. So tightly he held, doing well to keep it from harm.

 

Neither knew the precise identity of their love, or where they might be, or when they would even meet. All they knew was that they were born to love one another, and they were determined to do so. Both were impatient to meet their loves, but did not follow any hasty action that would endanger the hearts they had protected their whole lives. It was a certain thing that they would meet their loves--of that they were assured. It was only a matter of whether it was the very next day, or the day before they died. Whenever it was, they resolved, they would love each other with everything they had, for whatever time they were given.

 

Such was the way the shepherds passed their nights and days, days and nights. The cloud shepherd dreamed of idle afternoons curled up on a cozy cloud with his love. The star shepherd dreamed of staying up all night gazing at the stories written in the stars, sharing his favorites with his love and learning the favorites of his love. Both looked forward to impossibly happy times.

 

Only occasionally did they dream that they might search for their love, but it was a rare thing. For you see, they were beholden to their duties as much as they were to each other. The cloud shepherd attended his duties, as did the star shepherd, neither aware that their love was only on the other side of the day, and neither able to go to where his love was.

 

Ignorance, as they say, is bliss, and the shepherds continued to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the amazing art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BolCGJSHIzV/


	6. A Certain Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the witch/familiar AU.

Keith was of the opinion that there was no greater nor deeper bond than that of the bond between a witch and their familiar. It was an intimate, sacred thing, not something that was formed lightly. Indeed, if Keith had been told only a year ago that he would be Lance's familiar, of all people, he wouldn't have even deigned to scoff. It would've seemed so out of the realm of probability at the time, acknowledging it would've just been a waste of time.

 

 

And yet here he was, gliding down through the air towards the cabin in the woods that belonged to Lance, eager to return and be by Lance's side physically. Lately it felt like Lance was agitated, nervous about something, but anytime Keith brought it up Lance denied anything and everything. As far as Keith could tell, Lance was being honest when he said it was nothing to worry about. So he let it be. Now, however, Lance's anxiety about whatever it was that had been bothering him seemed to be reaching a fever pitch. From a distance, the sensation lingered at the edges of Keith's mind, making him feel unsettled, but the closer he physically got to Lance, the more the feeling threatened to completely overwhelm Keith.

 

His feathers receded into his skin as he got close enough to the ground. He hit the ground running, eager to rejoin Lance and demand to know what was wrong. Keith was determined that this time he would not walk away without an explanation, at the very least. He only hoped that whatever it was, Keith could help Lance with it. After all, he was Lance's familiar--this was what he was meant for, right?

 

He opened the front door without knocking. Lance would know who it was through their bond alone. As it was, Lance did not immediately appear to greet Keith as he normally would. Indeed, the entire cottage was silent. Keith knew Lance was in the cottage somewhere, but the silence was highly unusual. Lance liked to have a bit of ambient noise while he worked, whether it was a record playing, his own singing, or some spell or other that called forth a brief squall of rain over the cottage.

 

It wasn't until Keith started to truly worry that Lance called out from his workshop, "Everything's alright!"

 

"I know as well as you that that's not true," Keith called back as he marched through the cluttered cottage towards Lance.

 

His footsteps were feather-light, not making a sound as he made his way towards the workshop where Lance spent most of his time. Keith wondered if it was some poultice or potion giving Lance grief. It was the aspect of magic that gave Lance the most difficulty, being the most precise and scientific of all magics. It wasn't something that Lance could alter based on intuition alone, like he did with his spells and charms. Unfortunately, various potions and poultices were always in demand, and Lance very rarely turned away paying customers.

 

Lance scrambled to hide something when Keith appeared in the doorway of the workshop, which only served to heighten Keith's suspicions.

 

"Hey! Keith! Fancy seeing you here!" Lance squeaked.

 

"Lance, what's going on?" Keith asked.

 

Lance put on his best "I-am-very-obviously-lying" smile. "Going on? Why would anything be going on, I'm just--"

 

"Lance," Keith interrupted. "I know I'm just your familiar, but--"

 

"Don't," Lance said, expression as suddenly serious as his mood.

 

"Don't?"

 

"You're more than just a familiar, Keith," Lance said softly, reaching behind him towards whatever he had hidden behind him.

 

Whatever it was, it was small enough that it was still hidden as Lance closed his hand around it. He stood and walked up to Keith, who now felt a little nervous himself (or was that just Lance's nervousness spiking? What in the world was going on?!). The few feathers that still remained on him bristled, and Lance reached to pat them soothingly.

 

"The thing was, I--uhm--I wanted to make this for you, as a sort of reminder that you're more than just a familiar to me--so much more, but I got upset because I realized I made it way too big, which was why you felt me get so agitated earlier..." Lance explained, finally revealing the item in his hand.

 

It was a ring, carved from petrified wood and polished to such an extent that the part of Keith that was still a crow simply marveled at how shiny it was. The second thing that registered in his head was the exact significance of the ring.

 

"Oh," Keith gasped. "I--"

 

"I understand if you don't want it!" Lance started to ramble. "I mean, I know how you feel about me but I didn't know how you would feel about something like this, but I figured that maybe--and--and I mean you wouldn't be able to wear it on any of your fingers, but maybe--"

 

"Lance," Keith said, taking Lance's hand in his and raising it to his lips. "How could you possibly think I wouldn't want this?"

 

Lance pouted. "You're the one always saying that you're just a familiar."

 

"I know, I know," Keith sighed. "But maybe this can help me change that line of thinking?"

 

Lance beamed at him. He whipped around suddenly, rummaging around his various supplies. Only a moment later he found what he had been looking for: a long, black cord. He looped it through the ring, which gleamed red in the low light of the day, and hurried back to Keith with it held aloft. Keith tilted his head down ever so slightly, so that Lance could slip the cord over. Keith couldn't help but touch the ring once it had settled against his chest--it was still warm from being tightly clutched in Lance's hand.

 

They stood there for a moment, basking in the glow of excitement, happiness, and sheer warmth that was echoing back and forth between each other. Then they locked eyes with one another and burst out laughing, falling into each others' arms without a word.

 

The bond between a familiar and his witch was a deep one indeed, deeper than anything Keith had ever opened himself up to before. Indeed, being open to it in the first place had been an uphill battle, not just for Keith himself, but for Lance as well. Now, as then, Lance was showing him that there was not only more to be had, but that he was worthy of it as well, that he was more than what he thought himself to be. This time Keith fell without a second thought, knowing that with Lance by his side, everything would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the superb art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bon7wvwnfpT/


	7. Unlikely Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gargoyle AU.

The last place anyone wanted to go was a graveyard. Particularly not the oldest graveyard on the island. Superstition held strong, and people regarded the graveyard with the respect and deference that it required. Oftentimes more, but never, ever less. Too often people had been unfortunate enough to have to hurry past it at night, and swore up and down that they'd seen things moving within, be they spirits or the dead returned to life or whatever what have you. Everyone was too superstitious to believe that anyone, not even the most foolhardy teenagers, would go into that graveyard.

 

And yet, here Lance was, worse for wear and in desperate need of a place to go where others could not, or at the very least would not follow. The last thing he wanted to do was go into this graveyard. But, he thought as his head throbbed violently, what choice did he have? Already the ground underneath him wobbled uncertainly, the world tilting against his will. Sooner or later he would pass out, he knew, and there was no way he was going to make it anywhere else before that happened.

 

With a mighty heave he pushed open the wrought iron gate of the cemetery (there was no need for a lock or a guard--superstition had proven to be the best deterrent, after all these years) and stumbled in, his attackers close behind.

 

Lance did not consider himself a trouble maker. In fact, he was a rather respectable young fellow, if he did say so himself (and he often did). Unfortunately, he had a bad habit of running his mouth at the wrong times. Normally, a swift apology and a swifter getaway would spare him any trouble, but this time his luck had run out. Earlier that day, while on a break from his work, he'd been chatting animatedly with a lady who was surely the loveliest person on the entire island, and things had been going well. More than well, really, if Lance was any judge of it. At the very least, she was laughing at his jokes, and that was always a good sign.

 

But then the rich son of some richer politician had sauntered up and decided that he wanted the lady's attention, and made very ungentleman-like advances towards her. It was clear that she had been beyond shocked by the young man's crass nature, so Lance did what he was certain (at the time) that anyone else would've done: he told the young man off, insulting him and his behavior in all manner of ways for having so inconvenienced the lady, and the rich young man... Well, he'd bowed and simpered and made apologies of all sorts, and Lance thought all was well.

 

Until just earlier, when he was finally finished with work.

 

The sun had well and set, and most people had already returned home for the day. Suffice to say, not many people were on the streets. Lance had been carelessly strolling along his usual path home, when he'd been apprehended by a strong pair of hands and yanked from the dark street into an even darker alley. Immediately Lance saw that he was outnumbered and outmatched. The rich young snob had apparently taken great offense to the fierce and public scolding Lance had given him, but was very patient in taking his revenge. Lance, of course, could help but to point out that it was very cowardly of the young man to hire other people to do it for him, which was, once again, the wrong thing to say. He'd gotten his head slammed into a brick wall for that, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he had still been able to walk and talk, much less live.

 

But with his bell sufficiently rung, the events that led up to Lance slipping out of their grasp were hazy at best. One moment, hands were every where, pulling and holding and punching, and Lance was doing everything he could to escape--and the next moment, he had gotten free. He had hardly been aware of it at first when he started running, but it was just as well that he didn't wait to be fully coherent. The young man and his goons were hot on his tail, and there was certainly no way he was going to lead them home, where his family lived.

 

Which brought him where he was now. In the graveyard. Perhaps the last place on the entire island that he wanted to be. At the very least, however, the goons were not following. The rich young man sneered from the other side of the gates, saying it was just as well that Lance was in a graveyard because he was as good as dead anyways. Lance didn't like the sound of that, but there was little he could do as he fell to the ground, vision blurring and fading around the edges.

 

From where he was, Lance saw the young man brandish a pistol--because of course he would have a pistol--and around him the hired men became, for the first time, hesitant. They didn't like the idea of murder in a graveyard. But of course, Lance knew hardly anyone would question it. A young, reputable man from a wealthy, influential family is out for a nighttime stroll, and happens to see a less fortunate young man in a place where no one ought to be. It would be all too easy to claim that Lance had been mistaken for a grave robber. And who would dare question the young man, even with Lance's injuries?

 

Lance was hardly aware of what was going on, as his focus had entirely narrowed down to the pistol being aimed at him, but he did notice the other men suddenly screaming and tripping over each other to run away. The rich young man faltered in his aim, and then he, too, ran away, sparing Lance's life. Lance looked around, suddenly fearful that some sort of apparition had appeared, surely to punish Lance for trespassing on such hallowed ground--but there was nothing. Nothing, save for a gargoyle with strangely gleaming eyes, but it was as still as it ought to be.

 

Adrenaline fading, Lance finally succumbed to unconsciousness. He thought that he heard the harsh sound of stone grating against stone, but then, he had gotten his head hit pretty hard. No doubt he was just imagining it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fantastic art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BoyBtv-HLJU/


	8. A Quiet Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once it's not necessarily an AU, but rather a post-canon drabble.

There were a great many things in this universe to be experienced, so many that Keith couldn't even begin to keep count. Indeed, even of the experiences that he'd already had, Keith had a hard time recounting all of them in their entirety. Even so, he had at the very least come to know when certain things ought to be appreciated as they were happening, to strive to carve them into his very heard so that they would not be overcome by future experiences. Certain things ought to be treasured, after all. Perhaps only a few years ago, Keith would've scoffed at such an idea, but that was a younger Keith--he had other things to worry about then.

 

Now, however, things were different. There was still work to be done, of course, but they were far more peaceful than they had been for some time, peaceful enough that Keith felt he had time enough to just breathe. Given the time, he never would've thought to seek out different places on earth. For all that he'd been born there, he had never really considered it home. There was truth, he realized, in the old adage, "Home is where the heart is." As a child, his heart had been with his father. Some years later, it had gone with Shiro into space, and spent a great deal of time there, settling not only with Shiro, but with Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Coran, his mother... and Lance.

 

And Lance, for all that he brought his heart with him wherever he went, considered earth his home, and was determined that Keith should love it as well (and not just because Lance loved it). When he suggested they go on a short camping trip together, Keith was skeptical. Of all people, he wouldn't have thought Lance to be the sort of person that really enjoyed camping. Keith himself had gone camping for leisure a few times as a child with his dad--but that had been in the desert, where they could see the sky for miles (only now did Keith wonder if his dad was looking for Krolia in the stars).

 

The path they were on now was heavily forested, the towering trees blocking out the sky almost entirely. Up ahead, Lance continued to assure Keith that where they were going had been one of his favorite places to come to as a child (it made Keith wonder if sometime in the future he should bring Lance to the place he and his father had camped at all those years ago). Keith had to admit, there was something serene about being so deep in the forest. Normally he might've been wary, his senses sharp and on the lookout for enemies lurking just behind the massive trees. But these were peaceful times now. He could simply be.

 

It took some time for them to reach the place that Lance had been so eager to bring Keith, and when they did, Keith realized it was no wonder Lance had been excited (and no wonder that he wouldn't mind camping in a place like this). The trail had brought them to the edge of a lake, still as glass and a perfect mirror for the trees and skies that surrounded it. Lance began talking again, about how his family would come up here, and how, no matter what, they'd always take a quiet moment to admire the scenery. Having known Lance for some time and having met his family, Keith knew that was no small feat, but he was hardly surprised. Here, on the very planet he was born, was a place of such quiet that Keith already knew it would be a place he would like to return to.

 

Once they had properly admired the place, they had to get to work on setting up camp. It wasn't meant to be anything serious, just an overnight trip, but they somehow managed to turn it into a grand ordeal (somehow, things managed to end up that way between Keith and Lance, and Keith found that as time went on, he didn't really mind at all). Keith tried to decipher the illustrated instructions for the tent, while Lance insisted he remembered how to put it together from memory. Both insisted they knew what they were doing, even as the poles and fabric remained a mangled heap at their feet for at least half an hour. Eventually, the tent was put together (afterwards they laughed at how difficult such a task had been for them, Paladins of Voltron--perhaps they'd spent too much time simply camping out in their lions).

 

By the time they got a campfire started, the sun was just starting to set, the breeze bringing a mild chill that made Keith thankful for the fire. Lance dragged out a thick blanket from his bag (which explained why he'd brought such a large one for an overnight trip), and gestured for Keith to curl up with him beside the fire, facing out towards the lake. Lance seemed to be buzzing with some underlying excitement, waiting for something that he wanted to be a surprise. Keith didn't inquire. If Lance wanted it to be a surprise, then so be it.

 

The sky melted from vibrant oranges and reds to soft lilacs and velvet violets. When it did, the thing Lance had been so anxiously waiting for made it's appearance. Keith noticed it first, a distant speck of light hovering over the water. Then another, and a few others. Beside him, Lance gasped with delight and made sure that Keith was seeing it. Keith could barely acknowledge him through his awe. The mirror-like surface of the lake seemed to double the amount of fireflies skirting through the dark. As night fell around them, it wasn't unlike seeing glittering stars in space, only here they danced and skipped through the dark.

 

 

Keith sighed contentedly and leaned against Lance, who was grinning hugely, satisfied that Keith had indeed been surprised. Lance leaned back against him, shuffling a little closer under the blanket. Between him, the fire, the fireflies, and the gentle glow that settled in Keith's heart to seal the moment tight in his mind, Keith could hardly feel the chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the excellent art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bos1XBZn9t1/


	9. Where Superstition and Skepticism Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to AUs! This time, the fair folk are up to their usual mischief...

Living in the forest presented certain sensations, certain experiences--things that were fleeting and unique to forest life. Keith had been through plenty of other forests, and while they all presented their own share of interesting oddities, they had at least been more straightforward. Not so in the forest he called home, where the trees towered tall and imposing, their wood red and leaves a sharper green for it. His home forest was hiding something, of that Keith had been certain for his whole life. More than once, in particular places and at particular times, Keith had felt the undeniable sensation of being watched.

 

Most whispered of the fey, that elusive race of magical creatures that lived in the trees themselves. Keith wasn't entirely certain that that was the case--after all, he'd lived his whole life here, and not once had he ever seen a fairy or a brownie or a nymph or anything of the sort. Even so, that prevalent superstition was the only lead he had. Determined, Keith followed that lead in any way he could. He did all manner of horrifyingly (supposedly) unlucky things, things that made his neighbors shrink away from him. He traipsed through fairy circles, slept under quaking aspens, and all manner of other things he'd been advised for his whole life to not do.

 

Through it all, not a single otherworldly creature made itself known. So Keith changed tactics, though his own superstition was quickly waning.

 

He began to leave out shallow dishes of milk and honey, which fey were supposed to love. For the first few weeks of doing this, the bowls were untouched, and Keith had to replace them often. One morning, however, he awoke to find them completely empty. Thrilled, Keith did the same thing the next night, this time hiding himself somewhere he could see the bowls. If fey creatures were indeed real, and it wasn't just some wild animal that had licked his dishes clean, he wanted to see them with his own eyes.

 

That night, despite his vigilance, Keith fell asleep. He awoke to empty bowls once again. The next night he tried again, determined this time to not fall asleep. When he awoke the next morning, groggy and sore from having slouched in his hiding spot, Keith was quite cross with himself. It seemed to him that he would have to try a different tactic.

 

He continued to leave out bowls of milk and honey, no longer worried that they would spoil. In the meantime, he learned of other things that were said to be favorite things of the fey--music and dance. Neither were really things he would've learned were he not so determined to either prove or disprove the existence of fey creatures, but all the same he found himself enjoying his new hobbies. He whiled away his time around his home singing softly to himself as he did his chores, his feet sweeping across the hardwood floors with newly found grace.

 

Even after all his effort, however, Keith had still not seen a single supernatural creature. Months after finding that his milk and honey bowls were being emptied regularly, Keith began to give up hope once again. Perhaps it was just some wild animal come for a nice treat. The sense of being watched in the forest at certain times in certain places? Only his own paranoia. It finally seemed clear to him that there were no such thing as fey.

 

And that, it seemed, had been exactly what they had been waiting for.

 

A full moon was shining through his windows when Keith finally made to go to sleep. He set out the bowls of milk and honey out of habit more than anything by now, and told himself that he ought to stop. Milk and honey weren't exactly cheap, after all, even for only one person. He hummed a little tune to himself, not knowing the song and not particularly caring. There was a slight buzzing under his skin, a sort of anticipation that might've once excited Keith, made him think that something interesting was about to happen. Now, he simply ignored it and went to bed, falling asleep without trouble.

 

When Keith next awoke, it was with the sense that something was terribly, horribly wrong. His bed felt too large, his bedding too stifling and overwhelming--it felt like he was practically swimming in it. And as Keith came to his senses, bit by bit, he realized that it wasn't his bed that was too big--it was him that was too small! His ceiling now seemed as far overhead as the sky, the other side of his bedroom an impossible expanse.

 

His first thought was, of course this would happen to him. Of all the inconvenient things--Keith couldn't simply lie in bed and wait for the problem to resolve itself. He made a perilous climb off of his bed, practically sliding down the bedding that was hanging off the bed all the way to the floor, scowling all the while. On the floor, he looked around, getting his bearings. If he was judging the proportions of everything correctly, he was hardly bigger than a thimble! Not a very convenient size to be.

 

Keith was getting ready to make a long journey downstairs and out of his home in search of a witch who could potentially set him right, when he heard a tinkling laughter from not too far off. Looking about, Keith spotted the source, peering over the edge of his desk. It was a bright and merry face, with a mirthful expression, hardly any bigger than he was.

 

"Very funny," Keith deadpanned, crossing his arms.

 

"I thought so too!" trilled the mischievous little creature.

 

Without warning, the creature launched himself over the edge of the desk, very nearly causing Keith to cry out in alarm. The young creature did not plummet to his death, however, thanks to a pair of delicate, gossamer wings that allowed him to glide right down to Keith. A fairy, Keith thought in bewilderment. The fairy landed a little less than gracefully, but was no less cheerful up close. He peered at Keith with startlingly blue eyes, in such a way that Keith felt as though the fey could see right through him.

 

"Finally got tired of trying to rile us up, have you?" the young fey asked, hands on his hips.

 

"Yeah, although I didn't realize that giving you milk and honey every night was cause for offense," Keith huffed.

 

The fairy shook his head. "Oh, no, we quite like that."

 

"So what do you want?" Keith asked, still suspicious.

 

"Well, I have been waiting and waiting for you to simply ask us fey to prove that we exist--but you never did, and I got impatient, so here we are," the fairy said with a flourish.

 

"Here we are..." Keith repeated. "Why, exactly, do I need to be so small?"

 

"So I can take you into the fey realms, of course!" the fairy exclaimed. "Unless you don't want to go?"

 

Taken aback, Keith considered it for a moment. Stories often said that humans who went to the fey realm never returned. There were a few, rare stories where humans cleverly escaped, but in such stories so much time had passed in the realm of humans that such humans often did not have a home to return to. On the other hand, there was nothing to say that this wasn't some incredibly vivid, fever dream. On top of all that, Keith's curiosity was burning bright. When would he ever get a chance like this again?

 

The fairy seemed to sense Keith's resolve and extended a friendly hand. "Shall we go then, Keith?"

 

Keith paused at that, immediately suspicious. "How do you know my name?"

 

"I've been watching you for months, duh!" the fairy said with a roll of his eyes. "Now, are you coming or not?"

 

Keith took the fairy's hand.

 

With a mighty heave, the fairy flew them both back up to the desk, and Keith had to cling tightly to the fairy so as to not fall. They paused at the desk as the fairy eyed the half open window, which Keith had left so in order to entice a breeze in the midst of the warm summer night.

 

"What's your name?" Keith suddenly asked.

 

The fairy turned back to Keith, eyes flashing with unknown delight. He took Keith's hand in his and brushed the back of his hand with impossibly soft lips. The glimmer in the fairy's eyes suddenly seemed dangerous to Keith. Dangerous, but thrilling.

 

 

"The name's Lance," the fairy obliged, pulling Keith back close. "Shall we?"

 

Keith nodded, all hesitation gone. "We shall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the awesome art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BovhtPcnGf_/


	10. A Rule of Superstition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the gargoyle AU.  
> This one was actually a bonus drabble, so while there are bonus doodles that are related to this AU, there is no art for this specific story.

When Lance next woke, it was to an astonishing pain in his head and someone roughly prodding his side. He couldn't remember where he was, or what had happened, only that wherever he was, it wasn't home. He blinked a few times--it was still dark, with the nearest lights too far to shed any real light on the situation. Whoever was shoving him awake hadn't stopped. Scowling, Lance turned to make them stop--and promptly froze in terror as the night's events came breaking over his head like a wave.

 

He'd accidentally offended some rich young snob--said snob hired some muscle to teach Lance a painful lesson--Lance managed to run into the island's oldest graveyard, which kept the goons at bay--the snob had pulled out a pistol to finish Lance off--and then he and his goons had run. At the time, Lance had been losing consciousness too quickly to care what it was that had scared them off, but now he was staring it right in the face. At first glance whatever it was looked human. The moonlight overhead, however, revealed a stony gray color where skin ought to be, the texture that of stone as well.

 

Lance gasped and scrambled away from the living statue--gargoyle, he realized not a second later, noting the prominent horns and long, strangely delicate tail and the massive wings held aloft behind the statue. The gargoyle paused it's prodding, peering curiously at Lance. Lance clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming--terrifying as this was, the last thing he wanted was to be arrested for trespassing on hallowed ground. 

 

"The night watch will be passing by soon," the gargoyle said in a gravelly voice.

 

Though he was still mostly prone, Lance felt the world tilt on it's axis. His head still throbbed horribly. This had to be a dream, right? A vivid hallucination brought on by getting his head hit--superstition was just that: superstition. It was all brought on by paranoia and things misunderstood. And yet, for all that Lance scrambled for a more reasonable explanation, the gargoyle in front of him seemed incredibly real, too real to be denied.

 

The gargoyle scowled at Lance. "Are you just going to stay there like a moron or something?"

 

This, it seemed, finally snapped Lance out of his stupor. "Well excuse me for being surprised that a gargoyle of all things has come to life and is talking to me!"

 

"Be quiet! Or do you want to get caught?!" the gargoyle hushed him. "I've helped you as much as I can, but the sun is coming up soon, so you need to leave, now!"

 

In the distance, Lance could hear the night watch approaching. It sounded like they were shouting, approaching rapidly. As fast as he could manage, Lance was on his feet, and made to leave the same way he came, but the gargoyle stopped him.

 

"There's a smaller gate, towards the back. You're less likely to be caught that way," the gargoyle instructed.

 

"Thank you," Lance breathed, already struggling to stay upright.

 

He hurried in the direction the gargoyle had indicated, and once out of the graveyard, ran home as fast as his legs would carry him without passing out. He barely managed to make it home, where his family was in an uproar having been worried sick that he hadn't come home the night before and even more distressed at the state he'd arrived in. 

 

He didn't tell the truth of what had happened--nothing could be done against the young man who'd done this, so there was no need to get his family fired up over it. Instead Lance told them a few strangers had attempted to rob him, not realizing that he didn't have much of value on his person. More importantly, he didn't breathe a word about going into the graveyard or the encounter he'd had there. They would either think him mad or cursed. Neither would be good.

 

In spite of how hard his head had been hit, Lance made a fairly easy recovery, which was just as well, because he had to get back to work sooner rather than later. It would've been too easy to go back to life as usual, flirting with lovely people and making a way in life for himself and his family.

 

But every time Lance passed the graveyard, even at a distance, his eyes couldn't help but to search for the gargoyle that had saved his life, for he knew it had to have been the gargoyle that scared off the young man and his cronies. It was by virtue of that alone that Lance was convinced that what he saw had been real, and not a figment of his addled imagination. 

 

Lance wanted to forget about it, he really did--but he simply couldn't shake the sight of those lifelike eyes set into stone, looking right at him as though Lance were the curiosity. He knew long before he made any plans that he would return to that graveyard, sooner rather than later. After all, he had to thank the gargoyle properly for saving him. It was, if nothing else, dictated by superstition, that supernatural entities be thanked for the favors they grant mortals.

 

Lance only wished that superstition was a bit more clear on how to thank gargoyles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the bonus doodles for this AU here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BoyETTKAbBT/


	11. The Ways We Pass Our Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a coffee shop AU, but it certainly does take place in one ;)

It was the sort of day that Keith would rather spend at home, curled up under a soft blanket near a window, dozing until his dog came by to nose his hand in a silent demand for pats. Alas, adult life meant having to work on days he rather wouldn't. Still, he was content enough to sit in the corner of a cozy coffee shop during his lunch break, watching the rain steadily patter against the window.

 

Between his warm drink, the thick sweater he was swathed in, and the just-right temperature of the coffee shop that gave his cheeks a rosy glow, Keith very quickly found himself nodding off, in spite of the low murmur of the chatter all around him (or perhaps because of it). He shook his head lightly. It wouldn't do to fall asleep, but it seemed coffee was not his ally today. He had a book open in front of him, one that he'd been intent on reading for some time, but even that wasn't enough to rouse him. He'd been staring at the same page for perhaps the last ten minutes.

 

He checked the time. His lunch break was only so long, and he'd have to return to work sooner or later--but he was far from irritated. More so, he just didn't want to be disappointed. There was only so much time in the day, after all. Even after all this time though, he was impatient as ever. His impatience seeped out in the form of fidgeting, running his fingers over the warm band on his finger. It was almost an unconscious motion by now, and a soothing one. He gazed out the window, peering past the rain at all the rushing faces, looking for one face in particular.

 

Keith must've missed him, for only a moment later a damp arm wrapped tightly around him, while chilly, rain-soft lips pressed against his cheek.

 

 

"Have you been here long?" Lance asked, shucking off his dripping coat.

 

"I was falling asleep," Keith remarked.

 

Lance rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. "Come on, I wasn't that late."

 

"No, but I was still falling asleep."

 

Lance snuggled close to Keith, for all that there was plenty of room in the cozy booth. His short hair was still dripping from the rain, and though he had removed all his wet layers, he was still a little damp. Keith didn't mind. He might not have been one for cuddles when they had first gotten together, particularly in public, but Lance had eventually convinced him that it was a worthwhile activity. He leaned slightly into Lance, who looked about as sleepy as Keith felt.

 

"It's that kind of day, isn't it?" Lance mused.

 

"Yeah," Keith agreed with a huge yawn.

 

"Stop that, you're going to make me--me--" Lance tried, but ultimately failed to stifle a yawn, stretching hugely as he did. Coming down from the stretch, he draped an arm over Keith's shoulders.

 

"Are you seriously going to do that every time?" Keith asked, remembering fondly the very first time Lance had done that.

 

"Are you saying you don't want me to?"

 

"That's not what I asked."

 

Lance grinned wickedly. "I mean if you want me to stop, I can stop--"

 

He made as though to remove his arm from where it rested, teasing and playful. Keith grabbed his hand and yanked his arm back, perhaps with a little more force than he ought have, but Lance didn't seem to mind. That, or he was too sleepy to complain much. Their fingers intertwined, and Keith's fingers automatically found the rain-slick ring that Lance wore, running the pads of his ringers across it as he had with his own. They both sighed contentedly, leaning into each other. More than anything Keith wished they were home so they could just fall asleep like this.

 

"What are you reading?" Lance asked, voice heavy with sleep.

 

"A book."

 

"Really? I couldn't tell," Lance retorted.

 

"Just something I've been meaning to read for a while," Keith obliged. "It's about people who are the last versions of themselves in the entire multiverse."

 

"Neat."

 

For all that they should've gotten something to eat, neither of them could be bothered to move for the rest of their break. Occasionally Keith worried that they might fall asleep, only for Lance to make some casual observation, or ask a question about Keith's day so far. Tired as they were, they managed to not fall asleep. The end of their break came all too soon.

 

"Can we get take out tonight?" Lance pleaded as he reluctantly put his coat back on.

 

"Sure," Keith said, although he didn't like getting take out very often. Still, it was doubtful either of them were going to have the energy to cook or go out to eat. "Grab a snack before you leave."

 

"Did you eat anything?" Lance asked, completely ignoring Keith.

 

"I had a croissant with my coffee," Keith told him. "Make sure you eat something, you're insufferable when you're hungry."

 

"And yet you suffer me anyways," Lance pointed out, his tone lilting and happy.

 

Keith turned to Lance with a fond smile and pecked him lightly on the lips.

 

"Yeah," he agreed. "I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the marvelous art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo1IvstnJ1g/


	12. When Opposites Attract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith and Lance consider the nature of their relationship.

"You guys are as different as the sun and moon."

 

 

It was by no means a new sentiment, even if the phrasing was a little... different. Usually it was "different as night and day" or "two very different sides of the same coin" for those who knew them a little better. At first, it made sense that people would be astounded to see Keith and Lance in a relationship. After all, Keith was reserved, cynical, and not very personable, where Lance was rambunctious, amiable, and eager to please. They would be the first ones to admit that they were very different people. To them, however, that was no reason they were a bad match for each other.

 

"So wait, which one of us is the sun and which is the moon?" Lance asked a while later.

 

Keith hummed thoughtfully. "You're the sun," he decided.

 

"Is it because I light up your life?" Lance flirted, leaning towards Keith with a flutter of his eyelashes.

 

"No, it's because I want you ninety-three million miles away from me," Keith retorted, playfully pushing Lance away from him.

 

Lance gasped in mock offense, and lightly slapped Keith on the arm, an action which was returned in kind. Soon enough they were play-fighting with great energy, giggling like school kids all the while. When they tired out, they settled into each other's arms, breathless and giddy.

 

"I think you're the sun to my moon," Lance said softly.

 

"What makes you say that?"

 

"Well," Lance began in a genuine tone. "You're like--a driving force in my life, you always have been. You're fiery and passionate and... I don't know, those are the sort of things I would associate with the sun, you know? Not to mention without you I wouldn't shine nearly as bright."

 

Keith opened his mouth to protest that, always ready to assure Lance that he had value as his own person, but Lance stopped him short.

 

"I know I have my own strengths, just like the moon does without the sun. The moon controls the tides, and without it, marine ecosystems as they are would pretty much cease to exist--I think. Anyways, what I'm saying is, I know I'm my own person without you. You just drive me to be better, to be the best version of myself," Lance explained sincerely.

 

"That--you're reading too much into this!" Keith stammered, burying his face in the crook of Lance's neck.

 

Lance laughed. "Probably. But I mean it. Even when we first met, I always pushed myself to be better when you were around."

 

"That's because you decided we were rivals and felt the need to one-up me at every opportunity," Keith pointed out, voice muffled.

 

"Yeah," Lance sighed, overcome with nostalgia. "Those were good times..."

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, still holding one another as they were wont to do. Plenty of people thought that their differences were too great to be surmounted, that they simply weren't good together. Perhaps at a glance it was easy to see why. They appeared to bicker often, disagreed frequently, and were almost always competing with one another, even over the smallest things.

 

Still, it was only those who didn't know them well enough that didn't know that their bickering was a far cry from what it used to be. Where once their fighting had been borne from a genuine misunderstanding of each other, it was now full of playful teasing, and they knew each other well enough to know where the boundaries were. Disagreements were bound to happen, especially with people as different as the two of them, but they'd learned how to communicate with each other (in a long, arduous process of painful trial and error).

 

Ultimately, they loved each other, and were too stubborn to do anything but make it work. So work it did, in spite of the naysayers who thought that such opposing natures made for a tentative relationship, ready to blow up in their faces at any given moment.

 

"Maybe they meant it as a compliment," Keith said suddenly, referring to the distant relative of Lance's that had sparked this whole conversation.

 

Lance hummed, sleepy but listening.

 

"In a lot of stories, the relationship between the sun and moon is usually pretty close, right?" Keith said.

 

"Aren't they brother and sister in Greek myth?" Lance asked, contrary as ever.

 

Keith snorted. "I didn't say it was always romantic. But I think, overall, it's a romantic thing."

 

"Those ancient Greeks were wild."

 

"Shut up. I mean--it's like this cosmic dance, you know? No matter what, we're always drawn to each other, always connected, and even as different as we are, it just makes sense that we go together."

 

Here Lance looked up, eyes heavy with sleep but a fond smile at his lips.

 

"You are such a sap," he told Keith.

 

"You're a bigger sap."

 

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

 

"Cause you're into my sappiness."

 

Lance slumped back against Keith, defeated. "I guess you're right."

 

"I am right."

 

"I guess. Maybe."

 

"I am."

 

Like the familiar drone of a bedtime story, they bantered with each other all the way until they fell asleep in each other's arms, right where they belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the exceptional art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo3VorhHqzi/


	13. Softly Ringing, My Love for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When star-crossed lovers are backed into a corner, drastic measures are often taken.

A bitter, acrid taste on his tongue. The distant sound of shattering glass.

And yet all Keith could focus on was the cool metal of the ring on his finger.

Until he realized he had no idea where he was, or how he’d gotten there. It was a field of golden wheat, as far as he could tell, lined by dense woods. Tall stalks of foxglove swayed gently in the breeze, and Keith almost imagined he could hear their delicate blossoms ringing. He took a few petals between his fingers, marveling at their softness.

_The recklessness of young lovers was not a force to be trifled with._

_Lance loved his family dearly, and their rejection of who he chose to love, based solely on the family he was born to, tore his heart apart. More than once he told Keith that were it not for his love, he would’ve surely fallen to pieces by now. Keith held him tightly during those late night rendezvous after the discovery had been made. They would run away, he told Lance. Far away, where neither of their families could find them, and when all was said and done, they could return. Then their families would have no choice but to accept their love. Everything would be okay, Keith assured him._

In the field which he stood, Keith found himself quite alone. He fidgeted with the ring on his finger. It was new, but how new he couldn’t quite remember. New enough, at least, that it was an unfamiliar presence. Unfamiliar, but reassuring. Though he felt alone, the presence of the ring told him that perhaps that wasn’t really the case.

Another breeze swept through the field, setting the foxglove to ringing again.

_Keith was the only and dearest child of an esteemed family. As such, who he associated with was strictly regulated, and given that the standards for his family were almost impossibly high, Keith spent much of his childhood alone. He often gazed longingly out his window at other children who ran up and down the lane with great energy. Only once did he manage to sneak out and introduce himself, even play with the other children. One of them in particular seemed wary of Keith, and challenged him to a series of increasingly ridiculous competitions._

That, Keith remembered fondly, was how they first met.

He decided to see if there was a path through the woods, towards any place that wasn’t here, in this field where the ringing was growing louder with every passing puff of wind. He skirted the edge of the field, along the divide between it and the forest. There was no path to be found, and Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to brave unfamiliar territory, completely alone and with no food or water to speak of. How did he get here anyways?

_Their first meeting ended bitterly. Keith’s family dragged him in with disdainful eyes at the rowdy boy who scowled right back at them. That was when he learned that not only were certain families beneath them, one family in particular was so abhorrent as to torment their family with their mere presence, as they had for generations. Keith was never to see that boy again. He was sad for perhaps a few days, for there had been someone who looked at him and saw not his family or his standards, but Keith himself. It was the first time in a long while that he hadn’t felt so lonely. After those few days, however, Keith forgot, if only temporarily._

But why was he thinking about that now, Keith wondered as he meandered through the field again. There were more pressing things to worry about, like where he was, and how he would survive out here. He looked up towards the sky, to see how much daylight he might have left. The sky was a brilliant blue, but the sun was nowhere to be found. The shadows did not stretch in such a way that suggested the sun was hiding behind the trees–indeed, by the looks of everything on the ground, the sun should’ve been straight overhead.

But there was nothing. Nothing but blue skies and the insistent ringing of those flowery bells.

_When they met again, they were no longer boys, but young men, hot-blooded and well versed in the propaganda of their respective families. This time their meeting was not so friendly. They coaxed and taunted and teased, both determined to make the other throw the first punch. After all, if they weren’t the one to start the fight, it made no matter how it was finished._

_In spite of their supposed hatred of each other, the two young men, bored and looking for trouble, constantly sought each other out. Since they could not fight for fear of the law, they reverted to that one childhood day of theirs, competing and always trying to one up the other. Before they knew it, hatred turned to simmering rivalry, to friendly competition. Even quicker did teasing turn to flirting, which led to more serious realizations than either was prepared to deal with._

Keith had paced the entirety of the field several times, becoming increasingly frustrated. Frustrated that he was alone and didn’t know where he was, frustrated that he kept thinking of the past when his mind should be on the problem at hand. The wind seemed to get stronger with every pass, the ringing starting to drive Keith mad.

_They courted in secret, and worked very hard to maintain the illusion of rivalry in public. There were times, however, that Keith struggled. One day, Keith would see Lance and be reminded vividly of the feel of his lips on his, and have to look away, red with longing. Longing to kiss him again, and not in secret, but out in the open, whenever he wanted. Keith supposed it was his impatience that led to their discovery, but Lance would never hear of it. It was bound to happen, he assured Keith. One way or another._

One way or another, Keith had to get out of this field, he decided. Even if it meant traipsing through an unfamiliar forest, where he could very likely become more lost than before. But he couldn’t just stand here waiting around for nothing. That simply had never been his way.

_It was late in the day when Keith risked a visit to Lance’s window, desperate with the desire just to see his face. He was certain that, were it not for their families, he might’ve asked to marry Lance already. Hasty as it seemed, were it not for their families they likely would’ve known each other a lot longer by then. Keith’s heart ached for the time they could’ve had, the time he wanted so dearly._

_It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. Lance’s window was on the second floor of his family’s home, with some healthy and very climbable vines curling up the wall next to it. Normally they arranged to meet beforehand, out of caution, but Keith knew Lance loved romantic gestures like this. It was worth the risk, Keith thought, to see the smile on Lance’s face._

_And smile he did, a little panicked at first, but overall thrilled to see Keith once again. He had just leaned down to capture Keith’s lips in a tender kiss when a shriek rang out. They froze in horror as the lady that had caught them, one of Lance’s older sisters, immediately ran to alert someone of the rendezvous. They’d been caught._

For all that he wanted to leave, Keith couldn’t quite make himself. He sat in the middle of the field in a huff, the tall wheat almost completely hiding him. It was like he was waiting for something. Or, it occurred to him as he ran the pads of his fingers over the now warm metal band, perhaps it was someone.

_The reaction to the perceived scandal was catastrophic. Both Keith and Lance were kept under strict watch, but months of sneaking around had given them ample practice. There were only a few more obstacles to overcome, was all. Still, it assured them of one very important thing: their families could not, and would not be talked around to the idea of the two of them. So, it seemed, their best option was to run away._

Now that Keith was not so very concerned with leaving the field anymore, he let the memories run through his head as he and Lance once had as children down the cobbled streets of their hometown. It had been a well thought out and carefully laid plan, particularly for the two of them, impatient and hot-headed as the two of them were. He remembered all too well the news that sent it all crashing down around them.

_“I’ve been promised to someone,” Lance had told him tearfully. “They’ve been planning it without my knowledge ever since they found out about us, I’m so sorry–”_

_Keith hushed him quickly. But there was more to tell. Figuring that Lance might try to run away had he but known, his family had arranged for the ceremony to take place in only a few day’s time. It was too soon. Their plan, which they had crafted with such patience, needed more time. It would be at least another week before they were ready to leave. They were quickly being backed into a corner from which it seemed there was no escape._

What had they done? Keith was trying hard to remember, but the closer his memories came to the present, the more fuzzy they became. They got their hands onto rings for one another, determined that they would not be parted. They were married in secret, he recalled with a smile. Surely, they thought, once it was done, their families could not deny them.

_But they could, and they did. They contested the legitimacy of the marriage, since there had been no witnesses. The families marched them back to the church, demanded that the supposed marriage be annulled. To their horror, the two families managed to bully the very same priest that had married them to annul it. It seemed no matter what they did, they would not be allowed to be together._

Keith frowned. After that, he struggled to recall what they had done. And for that matter, where was Lance? Shouldn’t he be here, with Keith, failed marriage or no?

Almost as soon as he thought of him, Lance emerged from the woods. He didn’t see Keith at first, hidden as he was among the wheat, but he seemed to be looking all the same. Keith stood eagerly, and grinned when their eyes met. Lance laughed, the sound drowning out that infernal ringing that had so plagued Keith this whole time, and ran straight into Keith’s arms.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been waiting for you!” Keith demanded.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Lance assured him. “I got a little lost for a bit, but here I am.”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed, finally content. “Here we are.”

And where they were suddenly didn’t seem to matter. So long as they had each other, they could be anywhere in the world, and Keith wouldn’t care one bit.

The vitriolic taste on his tongue faded. Between the ringing of the foxglove and Lance’s laughter, the sound of breaking glass was but a distant memory.

And the ring on his finger was nothing compared to the man in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Julie's fault go yell at her here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo6LSn6HeNt/


	14. A Quiet Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to the sort of coffee shop AU.

For most people, a coffee shop was not the first place that came to mind when looking for a good place to study. For Lance, it was perfect.

 

His home, with his large family, was more often than not too noisy to get any decent amount of studying done. Not to mention, even they knew he was trying to study, someone always needed him for something. The library was full of students just as reluctant to study as he was, and with several people slouched over their tables in a much needed nap, Lance found that he wasn't very much motivated to actually study.

 

In this coffee shop, however, few people lingered for very long. Those who did often spoke in hushed tones, creating a dull murmur that was still quiet enough to shut out with quiet music. Lance had been there for an hour, eyes flitting back and forth between his textbook and the notes he was taking. He paused to stretch, thinking that it was just about time to take a break, maybe get a new drink (his first one had been drained within the first ten minutes of studying). First, however, there were a few more things he wanted to jot down in his notes--

 

He paused just before putting his pen back to the paper. He glanced to one side, and then the other, and raised his eyebrows when he found that someone had been watching him. Said someone had no sense of subtlety, and nearly dropped the book he'd been reading when he realized he'd been caught. Lance had to stifle a giggle as the young man, who couldn't have been much older than him (and probably a student too), forced his attention back on the book in front of him.

 

 

Lance let his own eyes linger for a few seconds longer than necessary, and then turned back to his notes. Normally, he would jump at the chance to introduce himself to someone that was so clearly checking him out, but finals loomed dangerously close, and his American history final in particular had not one, but two essay questions. Driven by a desire to do well, Lance set himself back to studying. For a minute, at least, until he remembered that he'd wanted a new drink.

 

When he returned from the counter, he caught the young man staring again, and had to turn his face away to hide his smirk. Sure, he knew he was good looking, but didn't this guy have finals too?! Lance wasn't going to take responsibility for it if this guy ended up failing anything. He put his earbuds back in, and set himself to studying once more, highlighting way more info than necessary (Pidge had told him that highlighting didn't help at all--Lance ignored them. It was nice way to at least feel productive).

 

He managed to keep his focus for a good few minutes, and then glanced down the table again, where the other guy was staring--again. Way to be spectacularly obvious. Again, Lance had to force himself to focus on his notes. Yet every few minutes he couldn't help but glance at the other young man, who wasn't always looking at Lance, but he was good-looking enough himself that Lance didn't mind, even with his mess of raven-black hair that fell nearly all the way to his shoulders and those horribly tacky fingerless gloves (was this the early 2000s or something?).

 

After ten minutes of them going back and forth, Lance decided that he'd had enough. He yanked out his earbuds and slid down the table so he was in front of the other young man, who looked as though he was trying very hard to hide behind his book. Lance, feeling bold, lowered the book himself, and was rewarded with a pair of wide, violet eyes. Oh, he could easily lose himself in eyes like those, given the chance.

 

"Hi," he said. "I'm Lance."

 

The young man regarded him carefully, as though reconsidering whatever he'd been considering these past few minutes. Then, he set the book all the way down.

 

"Keith," he replied shortly.

 

Lance gave him his most dazzling smile. "Nice name. Got a number to go with that?"

 

Keith snorted and rolled his eyes. "Really? Of all the pick up lines in the world, you go with that?"

 

"Hey, at least I did something," Lance retorted. "If it were up to you we'd just be making eyes at each other until one of us left and then you'd probably go write some edgy poetry about the romance it could've been."

 

"I would not!" Keith protested.

 

"Mhm. Sure," Lance teased, resting his chin on his hands. "So can I have your number or not? Or do we have to get through this whole date first?"

 

"It's--This isn't--!" Keith stammered as he reached into his bag for a pen and paper.

 

Keith marched out of the coffee shop shortly after that, red in the face and sputtering, but Lance was grinning like a dope. He wasn't normally so bold, and he blamed the fatigue from upcoming finals for it, but he had a phone number. Hopefully Keith didn't decide he was a creep after all and block him as soon as Lance sent him so much as a winky face (which he did as soon as Keith left the shop).

 

After that, Lance lost all hope of studying for the rest of the day. Perhaps the coffee shop wasn't the best place to study after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fabulous art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo8vJ-5H7GL/


	15. Critical Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a good game of Monsters and Mana to pass the time, right?

“Alright, here’s the scenario,” Coran started with a flourish. “Keith, your character and his animal companion have stopped to make camp for the night. Roll for perception.”

 

“I just did that earlier! What is there to perceive?” Keith demanded, only to have an answer when Lance tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

 

He rolled. Critical fail.

 

Lance rolled for stealth and did not horribly fail.

 

Keith sighed. He didn’t really see the appeal of this game, but he’d let himself be dragged in anyways, and apparently his character needed to be worked into the campaign the others had started while he was away. Now that earth was safe and they were all confined to the hospital, everyone seemed to agree that it was a prime time to play Monsters and Mana, and for Keith to be introduced to it.

 

The story, it went, was that his character, Thunderstorm Darkness (that was the last time he ever let Lance name anything ever again—first his wolf and now this), was a dark elf ranger with an animal companion looking to make his way in the world (Coran had frowned at the lack of creativity for his backstory—Keith insisted that some people just traveled for the sake of traveling). He was currently traveling through a relatively peaceful forest, and had thus far run into no trouble. Alas, it seemed to Keith that that was soon to change.

 

While the ranger settled down with his wolf, oblivious to practically anything that wasn’t right in front of his face, something slinked in the shadows, ready and waiting. A rogue by the name of Pike, eyeing all the shiny trinkets that the ranger had on his person, watched with careful eyes. That animal companion could mean trouble for him if he was caught downwind of it. His tail flicked back and forth in keen interest.

 

The ranger meanwhile ran his fingers through his companion’s thick fur, his companion having suddenly become agitated. To soothe his normally amiable friend, the ranger began to sing a lilting tune in a soft voice.

 

(“Roll performance,” Coran instructed.)

 

(Keith rolled a twenty.)

 

(He didn’t realize just how good this was until everyone around him, save for Lance, tittered with delight. Maybe this game would prove to be interesting after all.)

 

The rogue paused, still hidden just behind the very tree that the ranger was settled against. His ears perked up at the soothing song, and practically enchanted him. At first the ranger had seemed dangerous, but in a challenging, exciting way to the sly thief.

 

 

(“I’m not a thief, I’m a rogue!” Lance insisted.)

 

Now, however, the dark elf seemed gentle, even alluring. Pike wondered if the ranger was casting some spell or other, perhaps having sensed his presence after all. But a quick test showed that he was still in full control of himself. No, it seemed that the ranger was just that alluring on his own. Pike peered around the tree to peek at the ranger, and saw something akin to a smile tugging at the corner of the ranger’s lips. Pike blinked, unexpectedly charmed—

 

(“Coran, what are you doing?” Lance interrupted.)

 

(“Just trying to add a little flavor to the story!” Coran assured him.)

 

(Lance eyed the mustachioed master of myth suspiciously. “Just don’t do anything weird.”)

 

(“Roll for slight of hand,” Coran told him when Lance decided he wanted to rob Keith's character blind.)

 

(Lance did not roll well.)

 

The rogue’s foot found a rather inconveniently placed root and tripped gracelessly into the small camp set by the ranger. The ranger drew his weapon at once, his companion growling fiercely at the cat-like would-be thief with it's hackles raised. The ranger didn't even give the thief ("Rogue!") a chance to explain himself before charging--

 

("Oh, that's another critical failure for you, Keith," Coran informed him giddily.)

 

The ranger stumbled forward, and instead of hacking off the intruder's arm, he instead dropped his weapon and fell right into the waiting arms of the thief. In their shock, they regarded each other for a quiet moment, taking in details they might've never noticed before, like the way their eyes glimmered in the dim firelight--

 

("Coran!" both Keith and Lance shrieked as the others laughed uproariously.)

 

(Coran shrugged. "You're welcome to roll again.")

 

(Lance took his chances, intending to push Keith's character out of his character's arms--his chances were for naught, earning him an undeserved glare from Keith.)

 

Rather than push the ranger away immediately, Pike held him closer still. Perhaps it was because he'd never seen a dark elf up close before, but if they were all as beautiful as this one, he didn't stand a chance against any of them--

 

("That's it! I'm out of here!" Keith shouted, standing up from the table to march back to the solitude of his hospital room.)

 

(Lance did the same, saying that he wouldn't stand for his beloved character to be so poorly used.)

 

(If anyone noticed how bright red their cheeks burned when they left, no one mentioned it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the wonderful art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo_NAgZnOzW/


	16. With Just Enough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gargoyle AU returns again!

Lance had grown up listening to fairy tales of all sorts, but he never once considered that his life might become one.

 

That was, aside from childish thinking and wishmaking. But Lance grew up, as everyone does eventually, and the stories became just that: stories. Entertaining, but ultimately irrelevant. Ghosts and monsters did lurk under beds, or anywhere for that matter, luck was a matter of coincidence, and true love didn’t just magically fix things. No, Lance lived firmly in reality, where things made sense. Sure, he adhered to age old superstition once in a while, but that didn’t mean he really believed in any of it. There was nothing unusual that lurked in the shadows everyone so feared, as far as he was concerned.

 

And then a gargoyle saved his life.

 

The gargoyle was not initially receptive to receiving visitors of the more lively sort, even those who simply wanted to thank him for saving their life. In fact, he’d pretended to still be a statue (of the not so lively variety) when Lance returned a couple weeks later. Perhaps he’d thought that Lance would forget about him, if he could only be convinced that seeing the walking, talking gargoyle had been a figment of his rattled imagination. But Lance was not so easily swayed. He knew what he’d seen.

 

He shoved the gargoyle roughly, and the gargoyle, for all that he was stone, moved as easily as a human and did not take kindly to being pushed. When Lance explained that he only wanted to thank him, the gargoyle, or Keith, as Lance came to learn, scoffed and told him to go away. And Lance did. For that night, at least.

 

It was a few more nights before he returned, but Keith was no more receptive than he’d been when Lance came to thank him. But he was also perplexed. Lance had already thanked him, he didn’t need thanking again. Lance explained that he was simply curious. After all, how often does a person meet a living gargoyle? Keith did not seem to like the idea that he was a mere curiosity to Lance, and Lance found himself bodily tossed out of the graveyard that night, and the next few nights he went to visit.

 

Lance was stubborn, and persisted in pestering Keith, finding it rather diverting. He could tell that there was more to Keith than that sullen, moody persona he put up--how could there not be, he was a living gargoyle! A gargoyle that spent all his time in a graveyard no less. How edgy could one person be? And why, of all places, would Keith choose to stay in a graveyard? Certainly there were other places where a gargoyle wouldn’t be so out of place, right?

 

Eventually, Keith realized he wasn’t getting rid of Lance that easily, and reluctantly allowed him to stay for short visits. Lance was finally able to ask all the questions that had been burning within him, growing and blazing ever since they’d met.

 

“Why do you stay in a graveyard? Isn’t that a little depressing?” Lance asked one night.

 

Keith shrugged. “Safest place for me. I can’t move during the day, and no one ever wants to bother anything in a graveyard, much less a graveyard like this.”

 

“You can’t move during the day?”

 

“That’s what I said,” Keith huffed.

 

“Are you still, I don’t know, awake?” Lance continued.

 

“Yes, I’m still aware of everything going on. But from sunrise to sunset, I’m just another statue,” Keith explained impatiently.

 

“Huh. Neat.”

 

As time passed, Lance continued to visit Keith, whether Keith liked it or not. At first, he made it seem like he would rather Lance just went away. Still, he answered Lance’s seemingly endless questions as best he could. Lance learned that Keith didn’t need to eat or sleep, that he could actually use his stone wings to fly (Keith refused to take Lance flying before he could even ask), and most importantly, he learned that Keith had no idea how he’d come to be.

 

Lance’s first guess was that Keith had once been human, cursed to be a gargoyle for eternity because he’d offended a witch with his stony disposition (Keith rolled his unusually life-like eyes at the joke, but Lance was pretty proud of it). When Keith told him he couldn’t remember ever being human, Lance guessed that maybe he’d been a human who had died, and when his body was brought to this cemetery, the spirit moved from the body to this gargoyle. Keith once again reminded Lance that he couldn’t ever remember being human, to which Lance countered that perhaps having died made him forget. But that made Lance consider something.

 

“Hey, how do you even know your own name then? Or did you pick it up from somewhere?”

 

Again, Keith shrugged. “I just knew.”

 

Lance hummed, deep in thought. “Maybe, it really was a witch who cursed you, only she cursed you to forget everything but your name too--”

 

“That’s oddly specific.”

 

“--or maybe,” Lance started, a bit more somber. “You were just cursed so long ago that you’ve just. Forgotten.”

 

Keith frowned, which wasn’t a wholly unusual thing for him to do (Lance found himself thinking of ways to make the gargoyle smile).

 

“How could I forget an entire life?” he posed, with a touch of sadness that made Lance wish he hadn’t asked. “I mean, I remember so many things… but then, when you’re a gargoyle in a graveyard, I guess there isn’t much to remember.”

 

Lance didn’t press after that. Instead, he started asking about things Keith had seen in his time as a gargoyle, if he ever ventured outside the graveyard. That treated him to a rousing tale of the few times Keith had gone out on Halloween night to scare some kids. It was never often enough for him to become a local legend, but enough that he didn’t ever become too dreadfully bored. Lance also learned that, in addition to not needing to eat, Keith simply couldn’t eat at all. He’d tried once, but once it went in his mouth there was nowhere for food to go. He couldn’t even taste anything.

 

It was several months after they’d met that Keith started asking questions about Lance. Lance, having been all over the island and having met so many people, had plenty of things to say. He told Keith about his family, his friends, and all the (mis)adventures he’d managed to get himself into over the course of his life. He even explained how, exactly, he had come to be chased by the unsavory people that had prompted him to come to this very graveyard.

 

And it was several months after that that Lance realized he was in love.

 

He allowed himself only a few days of anguish. Certainly Keith was a gargoyle, not someone he could take on walks to the beach, not someone who could really stay by his side, but that didn’t mean Lance couldn’t love him. So he resolved to do just that, whether Keith knew it or not. The precious time he spent with Keith was doubly treasured after Lance’s life altering realization, but it was done quietly, without a word spoken by Lance of it.

 

One night, they had managed to run out of things to talk to, so Lance took a chance.

 

“Hey, Keith, I know it’s probably insensitive to ask, but if you suddenly, magically became human… what would you want to do?”

 

Lance expected an answer like “try some food” or “pet a dog” (Keith had once gone on for a few minutes about all the different kinds of dogs he’d seen passing by the graveyard, and how much he wanted to get closer to one). Keith, however, hummed thoughtfully, brow furrowed.

 

“Honestly?”

 

“Well, yeah. Unless it’s too personal.” Even so, Lance wanted to know.

 

“If I were human,” Keith started slowly. “I’d want to kiss you.”

 

Lance’s heart practically jumped out of his chest. That was, perhaps, the last answer he’d been expecting.

 

“You could kiss me now, you know,” Lance said quietly, almost a whisper.

 

But Keith shook his head. “No, I couldn’t, I--forget I said anything.”

 

He got up and returned to his perch. Dawn was approaching.

 

“Forget it?! Keith, I--”

 

“Lance, please, I shouldn’t have told you in the first place,” Keith insisted. “And you need to leave.”

 

Lance recognized the posture Keith was taking all too well, and not just because it was how Keith arranged himself in preparation for daylight. No, this was Keith’s “I am not going to talk anymore” posture. Almost indiscernible from his usual pose, save for the eyes. The eyes, glimmering in a way that was not very stone-like, spoke volumes. And though he knew Keith would not say anything, Lance was not going to give up.

 

“Keith… I know we can’t be together like other people can,” Lance began. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. And I don’t think that changes how you feel either.”

 

The sky was no longer a deep, midnight blue, but rather a dusty lavender. Keith’s eyes were still alight with night, but Lance didn’t have much time.

 

“I don’t care that you’re a gargoyle, you know. I don’t care that you’re made out of stone, or that you hang out in a graveyard.” Still, Keith said nothing. “What I do care about is you.”

 

“I know,” Keith finally sighed. “And maybe I’m just being selfish, but… even if I did kiss you, I wouldn’t be able to feel it.”

 

The words were like a knife to Lance’s heart. How could he forget?

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Keith, I--”

 

“Like I said, just forget it,” Keith said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

And before Lance could say anything, the first rays of dawn streamed through the wrought iron bars of the cemetery, and Keith’s lively eyes became as stone-like as the rest of him. Just as well, Lance thought as a tear streamed down his cheek. How could he have been so insensitive? Of course Keith wouldn’t be able to feel anything if they were to kiss, or even simply hold each other. Oh, but how Lance wished that he could.

 

He had to leave. People were waking now, and soon enough someone would spot him in the graveyard. Perhaps, given his tears, he might be able to pass off as a mourner, though no one had been buried here recently. Still, he did not move from his spot.

 

It was selfish, but he still wanted to kiss Keith. He knew it was selfish. And it made his heart twist so painfully that he now leaned against Keith’s too-still form for support. Distantly he thought of fairy tales where true love’s kiss could break every spell, counter ever curse. It was a desperate and silly thing, but Lance felt nothing if not desperate and silly (and perhaps a little heartbroken). It was selfish, selfish, selfish…

 

When Lance pressed his lips to the rough stone, he found it warmer than he’d expected. That small, perhaps insignificant detail made him hope more than he had ever dared to believe. Hope that this would work, that somehow someway, Lance’s love would be enough.

 

He pulled away, and looked into eyes of stone. His heart fell from the height of hope, and shattered all over again. It hadn’t worked. Of course it hadn’t. After all, what sort of love took what it wanted without care for the other person?

 

Lance tilted his head down, eyes shut tight against the flood of tears. His love hadn’t been enough. He was selfish and not enough and Keith deserved better than that. He deserved a life where he could be free, free to roam where he pleased, whenever he please, free to taste whatever food caught his fancy, free to pet any dogs that crossed his path… And free to love--

 

Lance gasped sharply when a warm hand covered his own, just as he was pulling away from where it rested on Keith’s cheek. He thought he’d been caught by some pitying pastor who might ask him to leave, which Lance should’ve done some time ago by now. But when he looked up, his breath caught in his throat.

 

 

For in front of him was not a stationary statue that was doomed to never feel the gentle caress of a lover or taste the sweetness of a kiss, but a human with wide eyes and a mess of inky black hair. His lips were slightly parted, and he was breathing softly. And his eyes, those gorgeous violet eyes, were alight with a liveliness that Lance had only ever seen set in stone.

 

“Keith?” Lance breathed, bringing his other hand up to caress the very human cheek as though to make sure this was real.

 

Keith smiled, disbelieving and teary-eyed could only nod, and then threw himself into Lance’s arms. They hugged each other tightly, first crying, then laughing (and then panicking when they realized they were still in a graveyard and needed to leave immediately, as they were now drawing attention). Lance wasted no time in taking Keith home, where he was given proper clothes. Keith marvelled at the sensation of clothes, and Lance marvelled at the warmth of Keith in his arms. They both became caught up in the wonder of kissing one another.

 

So, Lance thought some time after, maybe fairy tales had some merit to them. Because he and Keith? Lived happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the absolutely superb art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpB7MBBHQTY/


	17. One Night of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vampire/werewolf AU.

Keith had barely shaken the sleep from his eyes when Lance started prodding him excitedly, up much earlier than usual.

 

“Hey, hey, guess what today is!” Lance said, hopping from one foot to the other.

 

Keith hummed. Time didn’t quite work the same anymore, now that he was immortal. “Tuesday?”

 

“First of all, it’s Friday,” Lance corrected with a fond smile. “Second of all, it’s Halloween!”

 

Keith stared.

 

“Please tell me you know what Halloween is—“

 

“Of course I know what Halloween is! I just don’t see what it has to do with anything,” Keith said.

 

Lance pouted, deflating considerably. He explained, “It’s pretty much the one night of the year we can go out and about without anyone suspecting we might be anything other than human. I was thinking we could go to a haunted house, or maybe some scary movie screenings, maybe crash a party or two…”

 

“Lance, my ears…”

 

Lance reached up and ruffled the mess of hair around Keith’s ears, which made him practically purr.

 

“Everyone will think they’re just part of a really convincing costume, same with your claws,” Lance assured him.

 

“But—“

 

“No one’s ever suspected me,” Lance continued with a pointed grin, flashing his long, delicate fangs. “I’ve been doing this for years, Keith, please?”

 

When Keith still looked uncertain, Lance said, “We don’t have to do anything where anyone will get too close, but I thought that maybe we could just go out and do something fun together, you know?”

 

It was like a lightbulb going off in Keith’s head. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

 

“No, no, I’m just talking about it for fun,” Lance drawled with a roll of his eyes. “I didn’t actually have anything in mind.”

 

Keith was too giddy to retort with something equally sarcastic. He poked Lance’s cheek playfully. “You want to go on a date!”

 

“Well, duh! You’re my boyfriend, sue me for wanting to do something fun with you once in a while!” Lance laughed, swatting Keith’s hand away.

 

“Alright, alright, give me a few minutes to get ready—although, the sun is still up—“

 

“It’s setting soon, don’t worry about it, go get ready!” Lance urged, all puffed up with excitement again.

 

“Did you put on your sunscreen?” Keith asked over his shoulder as Lance pushed him back up the stairs.

 

“Just go!”

 

Twenty minutes later and they were walking down the lane in the cool autumn air, Lance practically vibrating with anticipation and ranting about all the fun stuff to do on Halloween. Rays of harsh sunlight streamed through the houses the passed, and while it didn’t bother Keith (being mostly werewolf), Lance conspicuously stayed in Keith’s shadow while they walked. Keith had a feeling he hadn’t put on any sunscreen, and he hadn’t brought that gaudy parasol of his or even a broad brimmed hat. Lance assured him he would be fine—the sun would be gone soon, after all, and by then they would be on their way to having some real fun.

 

Indeed, by the time they arrived in town, the sky was plenty dark, and there were so many people (mostly kids) running around in costumes that no one thought to look twice at Keith and Lance, just as Lance had assured him. Thus reassured, Keith was infected with Lance’s overwhelming enthusiasm, and let Lance decide what they should do first.

 

Which was how he ended up getting dragged to a haunted house.

 

“Hey, are ghosts actually real?” Keith whispered as they waited their turn to go in; a long line of tittering people had already been waiting when they arrived.

 

“Yeah, but they’re not as common as ghost stories would have you believe,” Lance whispered back.

 

They spent a few minutes leaning close in each other’s space, Lance telling Keith all about ghosts and the very particular parameters that caused a person’s spirit to linger. It occurred to Keith that they looked every inch a lovesick couple, close to one another and sharing some hushed conversation. It made him feel even more giddy than he already was, even as Lance went into detail about how the coolest ghost stories (which were more often than not pretty gruesome) were more often than not, fake.

 

It felt a little ironic, venturing into a haunted house for a cheap scare, when in fact they were actual creatures of the night. Keith had thought he wouldn’t be fazed at all, given that his supernatural hearing and smelling often alerted him to the presence of others well before he could see them. As it was, there was so much going on in terms of sound and scent that Keith had to restrain himself from snarling and swiping every time an actor jumped out at them unexpectedly. It helped that Lance was clinging tightly to him all the while, though whether he was actually scared or just being dramatic was a mystery to Keith. He found that he didn’t mind, either way.

 

Afterwards Keith admitted that the haunted house had been a bit too much for his sensitive senses, and they agreed to find something else to do for the rest of the nighttime hours. Keith initially suggested a movie, which Lance had mentioned earlier, but Lance pointed out that theater speakers might be too loud for Keith too. On that note, crashing Halloween parties probably weren’t a good idea either, given the tendency of humans to crank the music up as loud as possible. Even before being turned, Keith hadn’t been a fan of that.

 

“How about a corn maze?” Lance suggested. “People jump out and try to scare you there too—it won’t be as fun because we’ll be able to see it coming, in a manner of speaking, but at the very least we can have fun trying to solve the maze.”

 

“Alright, let’s do it,” Keith agreed.

 

As it happened, the nearest corn maze was not actually one with people trying to scare them, unless it was unruly teenagers hellbent on scaring as many people as possible (one group in particular had it turned around on them when Keith and Lance decided to give them a scare). It was a nice reprieve after the haunted house, which had ended up giving them both headaches. Their fingers twined together as they meandered through the maze, already quite lost but not really minding. The had the entire night ahead of them, after all.

 

“So? What do you think?” Lance asked after a while.

 

“Aside from all the extra noise and stuff? I guess Halloween is pretty fun. It’s nice to be able to come out without stuff to hide and just--enjoy the night,” Keith answered. “What should we do after this?”

 

“We could always get some candy of our own and watch some cheesy horror movies at home,” Lance suggested.

 

“Maybe before that we could grab something to eat at a late night diner?” Keith added, wanting to make the most of the night.

 

His suggestion was rewarded with a warm smile and a gentle kiss on his hand. “That sounds perfect.”

 

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the stupendous art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpG7JiKHwRN/


	18. One Day at a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the vampire/werewolf AU. Only perhaps werewolf isn't exactly the right term...

Objectively, Keith knew the library was quiet. The numerous books that lined the walls made the spacious room feel muted, and there was only one other person there with him. Neither of them spoke a word.

 

Keith found it overwhelmingly loud.

 

The wind that rattled the one window of the room, the crackling of the fire in front of him, the ticking of the clock in the far corner, the scratch of pen on paper, his own heartbeat, the heartbeat of the only other person in the room with him--it was all too much. His newly sensitive ears twitched incessantly, picking up more sounds than Keith would’ve supposed possible to hear in a supposedly quiet room. He’d come to the library hoping for some relief, but it seemed nothing would soothe the violent buzzing just under his skin.

 

He closed the book he’d been trying to read. The words had been swimming in front of his eyes for some time now, knocked around by the sounds rattling in his head. He would find no reprieve in a book, it seemed. Keith chanced a glance behind him, where Lance was sitting at a desk penning a very important letter. A letter regarding Keith.

 

Keith had already known Lance for some time before the… incident. And he’d always suspected that Lance had been hiding something. Certainly Keith was not normally the sort of person to pry into someone else’s business, but Lance was just so loud and often downright weird that Keith couldn’t help but be a little curious. Not that Lance ever told him anything until now, but Keith liked to think he would’ve figured it out sooner or later, bizarre as it all still seemed.

 

He slumped back into his seat, trying to make everything fit together in his head. Lance… was a vampire. An old one at that. This manor that Keith was now living in? The one that Lance said belonged to his family? Actually belonged to Lance himself. And Keith? Keith was apparently a werewolf now--only, according to Lance, Keith wasn’t presenting in a way he’d ever seen before. In place of his human ears were large, pointed ears covered in soft, velvet fur. And where he had nails, there were now claws. Perhaps if Lance hadn’t mentioned anything, Keith would’ve considered this normal werewolf stuff. But apparently it wasn’t.

 

Which was why Lance was writing a letter to an even older vampire, a longtime friend of his, who might have some insight into the situation. In the meantime, Keith could only sit around and wait. He hated waiting. He was far too restless, especially now (more werewolf stuff?), but Lance warned him it would be too dangerous right now for him to wander freely outside the manor. The grounds of the manor were spacious, yes, but in a fenced in space, Keith felt trapped.

 

His ears twitched as Lance got up from his desk and went to the window, where a stately looking raven was waiting just outside. Lance handed the letter to the raven, and whispered a few words to it that Keith tried very hard not to hear (“To Allura, if you please, and with haste.”). He closed the window carefully, and then crossed the room to join Keith in front of the fire. Keith’s ears, which were still sore from being so newly formed, quirked with every movement, every sound. It was painful in more ways than one.

 

“Hey,” Lance started in a soft voice that Keith was grateful for. He wasn’t sure he could handle maximum Lance-ness right now. “I just sent the letter, but it’ll be a few days at least before we can expect a reply. How are you feeling?”

 

“Everything hurts,” Keith admitted. “Everything is too much.”

 

“That’s pretty normal,” Lance assured him. “That, at least, is something vampires and werewolves have in common. The initial change is honestly overwhelming. Is there anything you need?”

 

Keith shook his head. “Not that I can think of, no.”

 

“In that case, we’ll just--move forward as if you were a regular werewolf,” Lance said.

 

Keith huffed a hollow laugh.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but regular is relative at this point,” Lance told him. “We need to get you to a new sort of normal.”

 

A beat of silence passed between them. Keith figured he could trust Lance, even though there was apparently a whole life that Lance had been leading that Keith had been completely unaware of. Lance assured Keith that he’d helped plenty of young new immortals adjust to their new, suddenly expanded life, and that he would do just the same for Keith.

 

“Hey, Lance, how old are you?” Keith asked suddenly.

 

Lance shrugged. “Eh, I stopped counting a while ago, but I’d say probably around four hundred-ish? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

 

“Four hundred?!” Keith sputtered.

 

“Yup,” Lance said with a pop. “Give or take a couple decades. Allura, the friend I wrote to, she’s even older--she was already a couple thousand years old when I met her.”

 

Keith practically wheezed. His meager twenty some-odd years had seemed to stretch on forever, and now they were insignificant compared to what stretched out in front of him. Yet another thing to stack on top of everything that was weighing on Keith’s shoulders.

 

Lance reached over to pat his shoulder lightly. “Hey man, don’t worry about the immortality thing just yet. We’ll worry about that later. For now, we’re going to focus on little things, and we’re going to do it together, okay?”

 

Keith took a deep breath, and met Lance’s eyes with his own. Keith didn’t like to rely on others. He’d gotten through his life so far on his own, and had managed just fine. But his life now was a lot bigger in so many ways, even Keith had to admit he was way out of his depth. And Lance genuinely wanted to help him, even going as far as to bring Keith to stay in his own home to do so. The cynical part of Keith’s mind wondered if Lance was just keeping Keith around as a snack for later (maybe werewolf blood was a delicacy?), but there was no way for Keith to know for sure. His best option, it seemed, would be to trust Lance.

 

“Okay,” Keith finally breathed. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fantastic art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpI3bq9n313/


	19. Lucky Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rite of passage for every fanfic author, a soulmate AU!

Keith would never consider his luck to be particularly good. After all, you don’t end up in a foster home if you have good luck. So when Keith started seeing things in his mirror that definitely weren’t there, he immediately accepted that he was finally losing his mind. Just another terrible thing to pile atop his already terrible life.

 

That said, Keith was very curious about the room reflected in his mirror, because it wasn’t his own. He peered through the glass intently, nearly pressing his face against it. It was a mess, unlike his, but that was because whoever it belonged to had more things than could fit in a bag to their name. Various posters from things Keith only vaguely recognized were plastered all over the wall, lined with glow in the dark stars. The stars were, for the most part, randomly scattered, but in some places Keith could recognize constellations. It didn’t look like anything that could possibly be his, but Keith distantly wondered if perhaps this was a glimpse of the future.

 

And then a boy his age walked into the image. Keith jumped back, startled by the sudden appearance. The boy didn’t notice him, instead flopping down on the bed as though exhausted. Keith wasn’t sure if he wanted the boy to notice him or not. Not to mention, there was no telling whether this was even real, or just some vivid hallucination from the depths of Keith’s imagination. He could swear he’d never seen that boy before though.

 

Before Keith could make any decisions about what to do with this strange, potentially cursed mirror, the boy glanced at the mirror, as though sensing he was being watched, and froze. He regarded Keith for a moment, rubbing his eyes and looking as disbelieving as Keith felt. Thus scrutinized, Keith supposed he should do something.

 

Keith waved. The boy screamed.

 

Not that Keith heard any screaming, but from the way the boy opened his mouth and was now scrambling out of his room, he guessed that the boy was screaming. He shuffled away from the mirror, and instinctively ducked behind his bed. No doubt the boy had gone to get his parents or something, and Keith didn’t want to get in trouble for something that he had no control over (and yet it seemed to happen all too often anyways). But when he peeked over his bed at the mirror, the other room was gone, replaced by the reflection of his own. He approached it slowly at first, then quickly, taking it down from where it hung on the wall to inspect it for anything odd or supernatural. He found nothing of interest. It was just a regular mirror.

 

Maybe he really was losing it.

 

The next day Keith was scolded by no less than three teachers for not paying attention during class. He was numb to their lecturing by now, only this time he seemed to get less irritated by it. One of the teachers even seemed concerned by the lack of his usual, highly reactive temper. Not that he could explain that the reason was because his mind was wholly occupied by the boy in the mirror. Who was he? Why did he appear in Keith’s mirror? And most importantly, Keith was thinking on his way back to the home, would he appear again?

 

Keith was weary when he returned to his room, dropping his backpack on the ground without sparing a thought for the homework in it. His eyes immediately went to the mirror--where his room was not reflected in it. He immediately moved to get a closer look. It was the same room from yesterday, with the same boy, sprawled out across his bed while absently tapping away at his phone. A backpack sagged abandoned at the foot of the bed--Keith had a feeling he wasn’t the only one putting off his homework.

 

The boy looked at the mirror, much as he had the day before. Keith froze, not even daring to wave this time. He didn’t want the boy freaking out again. On the contrary, however, the boy brightened considerably, and launched himself off the bed and towards the mirror. He grabbed a notebook and pencil on the way, scribbling out a message. He turned it and pressed the paper to the mirror for Keith to read.

 

“Hi! My name’s Lance! Mama says that this is something that happens between soulmates!”

 

Keith looked back up at the boy, Lance, after reading the message. Soulmates? His stomach did a funny little wiggle at that. He had known they were a thing, but he’d never given them much thought before.

 

Lance looked expectant, so Keith dug around his backpack for a notebook and pen.

 

“So we’re soulmates?” he asked.

 

Lance nodded eagerly, and then asked, “What’s your name?”

 

Keith introduced himself. Even before losing his father, he’d never been very good at talking to people, but with Lance, it was surprisingly easy, if only because Lance did most of the “talking”. Lance admitted that he was very excited to have met Keith, his soulmate, and seemed a little sad when Keith didn’t seem as excited. Keith had only to say that he just didn’t really get what a soulmate was, and Lance was more than happy to explain.

 

According to Lance, a soulmate was someone who would love you, no matter what. It wasn’t always a romantic thing, though it often was, and some people had more than one soulmate. More often than not, soulmates were introduced to each other by some intervention of fate--a note on their skin appears on the skin of the other, they can’t see color until they see each other, or, as in the case of Keith and Lance, they see each other where their own reflection should be.

 

After the explanation, Keith wrote, “I don’t know if I love you though?”

 

He thought that might make Lance sad again, but Lance merely shrugged.

 

“Mama says love takes time. She said something about soulmates being more about potential than anything that’s already there or something… I don’t know, I kind of spaced out after a while,” Lance wrote.

 

After school mirror conversations became the norm for Keith and Lance. Sometimes it was just a few, quickly exchanged lines before doing homework or chores or something else that demanded more immediate attention. On days that they had more time though, they seemed to talk about anything and everything. Lance told Keith about his impossibly huge family, how he was the youngest and one of his oldest siblings was about to have a kid.

 

Meanwhile Keith admitted that he had no family, and braced himself for the pitying look that people always gave him, without fail. But when he looked up, Lance’s eyes were not full of pity. Rather, they seemed contemplative.

 

“You should come and live with me!” Lance scribbled out eagerly.

 

The sentiment struck Keith’s heart. “It’s not that easy.”

 

“So? You’re a good person, you deserve to be surrounded by people that love you, and my family would love you!”

 

Keith turned away from the mirror, face hot and probably red (he didn’t have a different mirror to check). When he turned back, Lance had already written another message.

 

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it? People tell me I’m too much, sometimes.”

 

Keith shook his head, writing his reply.

 

“It’d probably be impossible, but thank you. It actually makes me really happy that you’d want me to live with you. And I think you’re just enough.”

 

For a while, Keith was actually able to believe that he was happy, that his luck had turned around. It was still a challenge to focus in class, but he put forth at least a little more effort, which for once his teachers seemed to notice. Kids still pushed him around, trying to get a rise out of him for the sheer amusement of it, but Keith was better able to stay his temper. On top of it all, he had someone he could confide in, someone that was made for him to confide in, someone that was made to be by his side. It was more comforting than he could’ve ever imagined. He was starting to see the appeal of this whole soulmate thing.

 

Unfortunately, this was Keith’s life. Good things just simply didn’t last long, and he was a fool for thinking, hoping that this one might.

 

It had been a good day. It started with a quick wave to Lance--it seemed that the mirror connection seemed to stay open as long as they wanted now, and they’d lately taken to bidding each other a good day before heading off to their respective schools. It was a Friday, and Lance was looking forward to going to a movie with his family the next day; Keith was looking forward to reading Lance’s reaction to it. The teachers gave everyone an easy day, with little work and even less homework for the weekend. The people that normally liked to torment Keith left him well alone (probably because he’d been too boring lately). Then he went back to the home.

 

There were several other kids he shared the house with, all with their own stories and difficulties. Keith, having spent the entirety of his younger childhood as an only child, was definitely having trouble adjusting to living with other kids, as they seemed to think nothing of poking their noses into his business and making a mess of everything. More than once he’d been punished for taking… appropriate measures against the other kids when he’d caught them rooting around his precious few belongings, while the real criminals seemed to always get off scot free. It was an unjust system, and Keith wondered how Lance managed (then again, he remembered, Lance was the youngest in the family--younger kids seemed to get away with more mischief).

 

“What are you doing in my room?” Keith demanded when he caught one of the other kids slipping out, looking guilty.

 

They broke into a run, bolting right past him and down the hallway, shouting, “It’s not my fault, the mirror was cursed!”

 

The mirror.

 

An unpleasant feeling coiled in his gut as he hurried into his room, practically slamming the door open. There, on the opposite wall, was the mirror, shattered, half of the glass still in the frame, with the other half in glittering shards on the floor. The reaction was immediate and volatile. He tore through the house after the other kid, demanding to know what they’d seen and why they’d done it.

 

“The mirror wasn’t working! It wasn’t reflecting your room, it was already broken enough, so I just finished the job!” the kid insisted, cowering under Keith’s rage. “You’re probably the one that cursed it anyhow, huh?!”

 

The flinched, ready for a fist to the face. But when they opened their eyes again, Keith was gone, retreated to his room where he bent over the fractured mirror with borderline desperation. It still worked like a regular mirror, so why shouldn’t it still work like a magic mirror? He waited, eyes flitting from piece to piece, silently cursing the the cracks that stretched like spiderwebs across the shining surface.

 

Outside his room, the other kids were shouting about something or other. Maybe it was about him, maybe it was about something else. He didn’t care. Darkness crept into his room as night fell. Still the mirror only reflected his own broken visage. Keith dropped his head, choking back a sob.

 

Behind him, the door opened--one of the older kids, come to tell him to come down for dinner. They paused, spotting the broken mirror.

 

“You know that’s seven years bad luck, right?”

 

They didn’t linger, only told him to hurry down for dinner or he wouldn’t get anything.

 

Seven years bad luck, Keith thought numbly. Sure. What was seven years more compared to what he’d already lost so far?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is Julie's fault --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpJfhV5n-Jm/


	20. A Double Edged Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS STORY CONTAINS SOME OF THE VIOLENCE THAT WAS WARNED OF IN THE TAGS.
> 
> A prince/knight AU. What could possibly go wrong?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

It had always been a possibility, a horrible happening that always lingered at the back of their minds. It was the nature of such things, after all, but Lance had foolishly allowed himself to be selfish and optimistic. That alone should’ve warned him that something was bound to go wrong.

 

That day his fateful mistake had been set in stone seemed not so long ago, yet also a distant echo that warned of darker days. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off the armor of the brave knight kneeling before him and glimmering on the edge of the sword Lance wielded. It had been a solemn day, he remembered, for all that he’d wanted to be happy. With this oath sworn, his hope was that no danger would befall the steadfast knight that had become so favored by him. What was there to be downcast about?

 

“I hope you don’t intend that I should be safer at your side,” Keith said when Lance first suggested that he become Lance’s personal knight.

 

That had in fact been exactly what the young prince had been intending, though he’d hoped that the high honor of becoming a personal knight to a prince would overshadow that detail. He knew Keith well enough by now that any attempt to keep him safe would be met with stubbornness and resentment. But with war creeping along the kingdom’s borders, Lance was anxious.

 

“Say nothing for the fact that protecting a prince is itself a dangerous job,” Lance replied tactfully.

 

Keith scoffed at that. “As if you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

 

“Should I take that as a refusal then?” Lance hoped it wasn’t.

 

“You could easily make it so, my prince,” Keith answered, ever the dutiful knight. “No need to ask for my personal preferences.”

 

“Your preference is important to me. I would not have someone by my side who does not want to be there. And please, I’ve told you before, you can just call me Lance when we’re alone,” Lance said.

 

Keith regarded Lance for a moment, this prince that he had come to know so well in so short a time. Lance knew he probably looked nervous. He’d been turning this idea over in his head for some time now, ever since war erupted with a neighboring kingdom. Keith could be called to the front lines at any moment, to do his duty for crown and country, and Lance knew he would go without hesitation. Lance hated the idea of living letter to letter for months, possibly even years, never knowing if the next letter would ever arrive. Lance knew his heart simply wasn’t strong enough. But if Keith had a more pressing obligation, here in the capital…

 

It was selfish, Lance knew. But what was the point of being a prince if he couldn’t make his selfish desires real once in a while?

 

Keith sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

 

“I can’t help but feel that this is some ploy to keep me safe from any danger,” he repeated. “But I also can’t help but think how much better I would sleep at night if I were here keeping you out of trouble.”

 

Lance smiled. “You’ll do it then?”

 

“I will.”

 

The small, private ceremony took place the very next day, as the sun was making it’s steady climb over the horizon. Keith swore an oath of fealty to Lance, and Lance alone. Lance saw in Keith’s eyes a determined fire that not even the king himself could cause to waver. It was as Keith solemnly intoned--he would give his life for his prince, should the need ever arise. Lance hoped it never would.

 

Afterwards the air was less somber, lighter, and Lance was able to breathe easy. The war progressed steadily without them, thought plenty of enemy detachments tried to force their way to the capital. There were some days were Lance still wondered if Keith really resented his new position--in the castle, there was not much for him to do but follow in Lance’s shadow. Anytime Lance asked, however, Keith reassured him that this was his place now, and there was nowhere he would rather be now, especially with the front creeping ever closer across the border.

 

For a while, everything seemed fine, happy even. And Lance had been foolish enough to think that it would stay that way.

 

A year had passed since the war had begun, and both sides were weary. There was to be a diplomatic envoy, which Lance was to lead. He was valuable enough that it would be a show of good faith and confidence to send him, but not so valuable that if things went wrong, it would not be crippling. Or at least, that was how Lance explained it to Keith when he first told him about it. Keith scowled at the idea that anyone was worth intrinsically less than someone else. Lance could only shrug. That was simply the way of the world.

 

For all that Lance had taken to the idea with ease, the thought of failure haunted him. The night before he was to leave, sleep evaded him. Uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his mind, fraying it as he took to pacing about his room. There were too many ways in which this could go wrong. And he couldn’t afford to let it go wrong. His kingdom couldn’t afford this war anymore. People were dying, people that Lance and his family were responsible for. If this went wrong, how many lives would pile themselves atop Lance’s consciousness?

 

A firm knock at his door startled him from his thoughts. He was wondering who on earth could be calling at this hour, when the knocker let themselves in--Keith. Lance almost laughed at the ironic and impertinent familiarity. That Keith should so easily walk into his room, but refuse to call Lance by his name alone. It was an oddity that made him so damn endearing to Lance.

 

“I can hear you pacing from next door,” Keith said.

 

“Sorry,” Lance replied, though he knew it to be an exaggeration. It didn’t really matter how Keith knew to come--all that mattered was that he was here now.

 

“Nervous?” Keith asked.

 

Lance nodded.

 

“You’ll do fine,” Keith assured him with an air of certainty that Lance wished he possessed right then.

 

“How can you be so sure?” Lance lamented, sitting at the edge of his bed, shoulders slouched. Keith wasted no time in joining him.

 

“Because I’ve been by your side long enough to know what you’re capable of. Your family sent you not because you’re the most expendable, but because you’re the most capable for this. If you can’t charm them, no one can,” Keith said, placing his hand gently over Lance’s.

 

Lance tried to smile at the praise, he really did. He loved it when Keith praised him, more than anyone else, because he knew that from Keith it wasn’t just mindless waffle that people thought he wanted to hear. Keith always spoke earnestly with Lance, even going so far as to criticize the prince at times. Still, happy as the praise made him, anxiety weighed heavy on his heart. He had to make this work. Failure was not an option. The overwhelming responsibility made his gut swirl sickeningly.

 

“I just--” he stammered, his nerves forming a knot in his throat. “I can’t fail, Keith. I can’t.”

 

“You won’t,” Keith stated, as if it were already decided.

 

Before Lance could say anything to the contrary, Keith pulled him into a bruising hug. Lance was taken aback at first--Keith rarely showed affection so openly--but soon enough relaxed into the tight embrace, sighing contentedly. He stayed there for a while, as his fears and doubts seemed to melt away. Keith was warm and reliable against him, whispering soft reassurances until Lance began to genuinely believe him. He could do this. And he would.

 

They woke before dawn the next morning. Lance felt exhausted, and quickly apologized to Keith for having kept him up so late. Keith told him to think nothing of it. Lance objected, saying that he thought much of it; it was no small thing to be a knight to a prince--greater still was it to be a friend to someone in need. Keith took pause at that.

 

“Just a friend?” he inquired. His expression, to Lance’s dismay, betrayed nothing.

 

“If that’s what you desire,” Lance began slowly, steeling himself. This was a day for bravery. “Although, I must admit that, towards you, I--”

 

Keith stopped him short. “Tell me when we return.”

 

Lance smiled fondly. “Very well.”

 

Leave it to Keith to cleverly give Lance something to look forward to, past this whole diplomacy thing. Lance wondered idly if perhaps it was unwise. Now he was a bundle of nerves for a completely different reason.

 

The journey to the parley site took the greater part of the day, and despite suggestions that he rest for a moment after his travels, Lance dove headfirst into negotiations. He already expected the bartering to last much longer than he wanted--a week, at least. He was done worrying over it. The time for decisiveness and action was now.

 

As it happened, negotiations proceeded much more smoothly than Lance had anticipated. Certainly there was some irritating back and forth, as was to be expected, but it seemed that both sides were tired and ready to be done with this war. What Lance had expected to take weeks took only days. But quicker than he could blink, it seemed, treaties were drafted, signed and sealed. Heralds were sent to the four corners of the land--there would be peace.

 

Keith nudged Lance on their way out from the main tent on the final day of negotiations. “Told you you could do it.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, trying and failing to hide a grin. It wasn’t often he admitted to Keith being right, but perhaps, just this once, he would allow it. Keith teased him mercilessly for that, and Lance could do nothing but laugh. He felt lighter than air. He had succeeded at such an important task, and they would return home the very next day. Lance could tell Keith what he likely already knew, and they could, perhaps, be more than just a prince and his knight.

 

The next day dawned bright and beautiful, only further bolstering Lance’s high spirits. In retrospect, Lance supposed he should’ve known that it would be then that everything would begin to go wrong.

 

They were nearing the capital, and the whole company was at ease. It was hard to be glum and serious when you were making a triumphant return, announcing to everyone that the war was officially over. It was a time for rejoicing, for celebration. The only warning they got before everything went to hell in a handbasket was an arrow whizzing dangerously past their beloved prince’s head.

 

It was the first indicator that the danger they now faced was deadly, for their assailants to have already gotten so close that they very nearly assassinated the prince in one fell swoop--they must’ve taken out the scouts that surrounded the entourage with alarming speed. Keith wasted no time in taking charge, rallying the soldiers for a fight. They deferred to him without question. Lance drew his own sword. Certainly he had an entire company of soldiers fighting for him, but he would not let them fight as he sat idly by. It was his life they were fighting for. He would fight for it too, and theirs, if he could.

 

Brigands erupted from the surrounding woodline, and chaos took hold within seconds. Lance’s first thought was that they must’ve been hired. They were dressed in the uniform of the (former) enemy, but there was no order, and neither did they employ the opposing army’s usual tactics. Either this was a special detachment, or someone was determined to keep this war going. Given the ease of negotiations, Lance was willing to hedge his bets on the latter. He was also determined to survive--he was not about to let the peace he’d worked so hard for end after only a day.

 

His thought that these were hired brutes was not misplaced. Several arrows nearly found a place in his chest, and several more buried themselves in his horse, forcing him to dismount in a hurry. It put him in a vulnerable position, but he was not helpless. Two assailants, having muscled their way past the veritable wall of soldiers protecting Lance, were on him within seconds. He dispatched them swiftly--served them right for thinking him so easy an opponent. Around him, the formation of soldiers was failing, and Lance had to continue to defend himself.

 

A particularly barbarous man advanced on Lance, massive and daunting. His first strike sent Lance flying, knocking his sword clear out of his hand. Where it went, there was no telling. It was immediately lost in the midst of the battle. There was no time for Lance to try and track it down. The man was fast for his size, and was on Lance again before he had fully recovered. He dodged the monstrous axe as best as he could, but he couldn’t carry on like this. He had to do something, but all he had left on him was a small knife. It would require him to get in dangerously close, which distantly he knew Keith wouldn’t like. Unless…

 

As soon as Lance spied an opening, he drew his knife without hesitation and hurled it at his opponent with practiced ease. It lodged itself cleanly in the man’s throat. The man came down with all the force of a landslide, still trying to kill Lance even as he himself was dying.

 

While the assailants had gotten the drop on them, coming at Lance’s company from all angles, these were soldiers of the crown; they were better equipped and their skills far exceeded that of any hired muscle. It was a hard fought battle, but the victory of Lance’s men was assured. Indeed, the assailants eventually retreated, seeing the futile nature of their job. Lance whooped and cheered alongside his men, revelling in their victory, if only for a brief moment.

 

Then came the aftermath.

 

Many men were wounded, some gravely so. A few, including the scouts that would’ve normally warned them of such an attack, were already dead. Lance ordered for a count, and then tasked a few men to gather and bring the bodies home. They would have to lag behind the rest of the company, but Lance sent a few men ahead to request aid. Some men would not make it through the night without more practiced medical intervention. The two medics they had on hand could only do so much. As it was, Lance only saw one tending to most of the men. Something unpleasant stirred in his chest.

 

“Where is Sir Keith?” he asked a passing soldier.

 

The soldier’s expression became grim. He gestured for Lance to follow him, where several men had gathered around something--or someone. They all looked distraught. A mere look from their prince commanded them to stand aside, for all that they did so reluctantly. The cause for their reluctance was all too apparent once they revealed what had happened.

 

There, kneeling on the ground, not unlike the way he had all that time ago when he had sworn to protect Lance at any cost, was Keith, a sword having been run clean through him. And not just any sword, Lance realized with horror--it was Lance’s very own sword, the one that he’d lost in the midst of the battle. Bright red blood ran down to the tip, dripping to the ground like the tick of a morbid clock. The other medic was by his side, hands alight with a healing gift, but there was only so much he could do. Field medics could only stabilize injuries--they couldn’t heal them all the way.

 

Bile rose up in Lance’s throat unbidden. He had already sent for help, and the medic was already doing his best for Keith. Lance wanted nothing more than to hold Keith close, command him to live--Keith was stubborn and dutiful enough that simply being ordered to live might make it so. But Lance knew better than to get in the way of the medic. There was nothing he could do.

 

In a voice that didn’t feel like his own, Lance ordered that they should move forward. Makeshift litters were made to carry those who could not walk. The sword was not able to be removed from Keith’s chest just yet--according to the medic, it was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out within minutes. Until he could be brought to a surgeon, the sword had to remain where it was. Lance couldn’t bear to look at it. He couldn’t bear to look at Keith’s deathly pale face, with eyes that looked but didn’t see.

 

Help met them just outside the capital. The injured were promptly whisked away as fast as they could be. Lance looked away, the glint of his own sword too apparent even at a distance. His company arrived back at the castle with a somber air about them. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Their return was supposed to happy, victorious. And while they were victorious in more ways than one, it was far from being a happy one.

 

Lance’s family hugged him fiercely when they saw him safely home. That he was safe was all they could think of--his successful negotiations were a mere footnote. Lance didn’t mind. His thoughts were occupied with the four men that had lost their lives defending his. He retreated to his room shortly after returning, ordering that a doctor should inform him of the status of his wounded men at dawn.

 

But dawn was a long ways away, and Lance couldn’t sleep. He was too consumed with guilt. He’d been selfish, terribly so. Selfish, and naive. He was a prince, after all. There would always be someone unhappy with him and his family, always a target on his back wherever he went. Of course, anyone at his side would be in just as much danger, if not more.

 

It was a long way to dawn.

 

Yet dawn came, as it always did, and with it a doctor, just as Lance had ordered. Two more of his men had not made it through the night, bringing the total number of casualties to six. It made Lance feel sick to his stomach. He would see to it that they were properly laid to rest, and their families taken care of. In the meantime, there was one person in particular he was especially curious about.

 

“What of Sir Keith?” he asked, hesitant.

 

But the doctor brightened. It had been a serious injury, to be sure, but the sword had missed his heart completely. He suspected there would be some lingering damage which would make it difficult for the knight to use his left arm for some time, but otherwise, he was alive, and he would stay that way. Lance’s heart lightened considerably at the news.

 

“May I see him?” Lance asked.

 

“Of course, your highness.”

 

Keith’s rooms were right next to Lance’s, being his personal knight and all. He’d been brought there to recover in comfort. He was awake when the doctor let Lance in. Lance waved the doctor away, leaving the two alone. To see Keith alive and (mostly) well, it made Lance feel as though he could breathe again, if only just.

 

Keith spoke first. “I’m glad you’re unharmed.”

 

“I don’t like that it was at the expense of you and so many others.”

 

“You’re a prince,” Keith said easily, though his voice was tired. “There’s nothing for it.”

 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Lance muttered, frowning.

 

The front of Keith’s shirt was open, exposing the stark white bandages that hid that nearly fatal injury. It had been a close thing this time. How close would it be next time?

 

“What was it you wanted to tell me, before we left?” Keith asked suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled over them. He looked expectant, almost happy.

 

Lance took a deep breath.

 

“I wanted to tell you,” Lance began, struggling to keep his voice even. “That I am releasing you from your oath from me.”

 

Keith looked as though Lance had run him through with his sword himself, directly through his heart. “What?”

 

“You’ll return to your regular duties as a knight of the crown. You are no longer beholden to me,” Lance stated, every part the well-spoken and unaffected prince.

 

“Like hell I’m--” Keith started loudly, trying to get up but doubling over in pain when he tried. The wound was too fresh.

 

“Please,” Lance said evenly. “This is for the best. I should never have tried to keep you by my side in the first place, we both knew that. It was selfish of me, and for that, I apologize. Your service has nonetheless been exemplary. Thank you, Sir.”

 

“Wait, no--Lance!” Keith called as Lance turned to leave.

 

Lance’s heart ached at the sound of Keith calling his name so easily. When was the last time he’d done that? It was almost enough to make him turn around. Almost.

 

“Goodbye, Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Julie's fault. This story was inspired by two pieces of art, rather than one.  
> \--> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpOvZNPHX3e/  
> \--> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpQ9TGSnXYh/


	21. A Sweet Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince/knight AU rewinds a bit for a masquerade...

Keith was warm. Almost too much so.

 

Parties weren’t exactly his comfort zone, so he found himself sipping from his champagne perhaps a little more than he ought have. Now the warmth swirled pleasantly throughout him, not quite inebriating, but enough to make his carefully tailored clothing feeling stifling even though it had been made for comfort, rather than style. From the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes, Keith was warm, and a smile tugged at the corners of his reluctant lips as he watched merry makers twirl about the dance floor, breathless with laughter and eyes alight with mirth.

 

Masquerades were a bit of a conundrum for Keith. On the one hand, he enjoyed how they brought everyone to an even level. There were no princes or servants in a masquerade, no one inherently more important than another, only people looking for romance and intrigue. On the other hand, his mask sat on the bridge of his nose uncomfortably, and obscured his peripherals. Had it been up to him, he would’ve stayed in, but as a knight of the crown, his presence was a required formality. Currently, he was more than content to stand on the sidelines, swaying slightly with music and drink. He was content to wait the party out, and leave as soon as was polite.

 

Someone, it seemed, had other ideas.

 

A young man dressed in rich, but simple blues strode up to him, bold as could be. He extended his hand, a silent question. Keith was warm and willing, for all that he didn’t normally enjoy dancing, and took the stranger’s hand. After all, what better way to pass the time?

 

The next song was a rousing one, lively and fast, such that Keith could barely keep up with his energetic partner. Give him a sword and an opponent and Keith’s footwork was unrivaled, but here on the dance floor he was but a mere novice compared to the man that twirled him around like it was nothing at all. Keith laughed as the man hoisted him into the air; perhaps it was just the drink, but Keith was actually enjoying himself.

 

The dance ended, as dances were wont to do, and as courtesy dictated he and his partner bowed to one another. Before Keith could return to his spot on the sidelines, however, his partner swept him up into the next dance. He had not said a word through the first dance, but he did so now.

 

“I hope you are enjoying yourself as much as I am,” the stranger said, blue eyes twinkling.

 

“I am now,” Keith replied.

 

“Good,” the stranger breathed. He seemed genuinely relieved. “You seemed bored to death, standing all by your lonesome over there.”

 

“I was, but now I find myself pleasantly diverted.”

 

The stranger smiled. “Would you care to be diverted for the length of another dance?”

 

“Aren’t we already dancing?”

 

The stranger laughed, a pleasant laugh that made him duck his head. Keith decided he liked the sound very much. He wondered what it would take to hear it again.

 

“I meant for the next dance,” the stranger finally explained.

 

“Oh,” Keith gasped. Then it was his turn to laugh. “Of course.”

 

Another dance turned into two more, then three, and soon enough they were dancing the night away together, two mysterious gentlemen in red and blue. Somewhere in his mind Keith knew that such a striking pair would be the talk of the palace for at least a week, but there was safety in anonymity. No one would know who he or his partner was, and that made everything all the more thrilling.

 

With every passing dance, the space between Keith and his mystery man seemed to shrink. He became increasingly aware of the hand on his waist, the warmth of his hand in the stranger’s. Eventually there came a dance that Keith actually knew, and by then he was feeling quite bold.

 

“May I lead for this one?” he asked.

 

The mystery man obliged with a grin.

 

“Something tells me you don’t dance often,” the stranger commented not long after the next dance had commenced, a slow, and lilting waltz.

 

“No, I don’t make a habit of it,” Keith answered honestly. “I’m guessing you do?”

 

“It’s necessary that I do,” the man said.

 

“Is there anything else you make a habit of?” Keith found himself asking, for all that it was a very forward thing to ask. Everyone was supposed to be shrouded in mystery at a masquerade--any personal questions were by default rude and contrary to the event.

 

“A great many things,” the stranger said with a shrug.

 

Keith supposed he should’ve expected a vague answer, but pressed forward anyways. “And of those things, which are your favorites?”

 

The stranger was silent a moment, likely debating how best to shut Keith down, but Keith himself was not all that anxious as he normally would’ve been. He supposed he had the champagne to thank for that. As the stranger thought, the waltz turned into something more jaunty, something that had them stepping around and about each other. Keith kept his eyes trained on blue ones all the while.

 

“A great many artful things,” the stranger finally answered. “Poetry, theater, singing, playing instruments, although I find that I rarely have time for such things. What about you? Are you able to indulge in such things?”

 

Keith shook his head. “Hardly. Perhaps one could argue that I engage in the art of war, but that can hardly be considered an art.”

 

“Are you so certain?”

 

“I am.”

 

“So you’re a soldier then,” the stranger stated. “Or a knight?”

 

Keith blinked. “That’s a very forward question.”

 

“Do I get the honor of a forward answer?”

 

Keith considered for a moment.

 

“No,” he ultimately decided.

 

“Very well,” the stranger acquiesced. “What do I get to know about you, since I have now shared several things about myself?”

 

Keith deliberated what he should tell the stranger, heart fluttering. He blamed the champagne. In that moment he felt very boring indeed. He considered that perhaps he ought to take up another hobby or two, in between training and other such knightly responsibilities.

 

“I like to look at the stars,” he finally admitted, as the music faded away. “When I have the time, anyways.”

 

The stranger smiled that crooked smile of his again and took Keith by the hand to whisk him out of the ballroom before the next dance could begin. Keith followed without pause, giddy and curious as to what the stranger intended.

 

“I hope you don’t intend to do anything unseemly towards me,” Keith giggled as they scurried down an empty corridor hand in hand.

 

The stranger actually looked offended. “Of course not! Not to mention it would be foolish to even try, knowing you’re well versed in defending yourself. I wouldn’t dream of doing anything untowards a gentleman such as yourself.”

 

Keith was barely able to stop himself from wishing aloud that he would.

 

“I trust that you won’t,” Keith said instead.

 

The stranger glanced back at him, a wry grin on his face. “You’ve gone and figured me out, haven’t you?”

 

“Not at all,” Keith assured him.

 

“Good,” the stranger sighed. “I would hate for you to become all simpering and formal all of a sudden. I don’t often get to have fun so freely, you know.”

 

“So you’re a member of the nobility then?” Keith guessed.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” the stranger answered. “What makes you so certain?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Noble people are always bemoaning their status, acting as though it’s far more romantic to be poor, as if somehow a lower status grants them more freedom than they already have.”

 

The stranger hummed thoughtfully, but did not offer any insight, as they had apparently reached the place he had intended. He had Keith wait, hidden behind a dark corner as the mystery man went and spoke in hushed tones with a guard. When he returned and brought Keith around, the guard was conspicuously absent. Either this man was very persuasive, or his position held a lot of weight. Whichever it was, they were free to trot up the winding stairs of what Keith was certain was the tallest tower of the castle.

 

“The guard is a friend of mine,” the mystery man explained unbidden on their way up. “I asked him to simply… investigate a suspicious noise for a few minutes.”

 

“So you are planning unsavory things,” Keith teased.

 

The stranger giggled. “I would never!”

 

They were in high spirits when they reached the top (pun intended, the stranger informed Keith), albeit a little winded from climbing all those steps. A few torches were lit, but the stranger extinguished them quickly and without care. Who was this man, Keith wondered, that he should do whatever he pleased without care for consequences?

 

The question was quickly put out of his mind when the stranger asked, “So which ones are your favorite?”

 

It took a moment for Keith to reply--indeed, at first he had no idea what this mystery man was talking about. But then the stranger nodded towards the sky, inking black and glittering, and Keith remembered what he had said before being so unceremoniously spirited away from the masquerade.

 

(Distantly he wondered if they still had to wear their masks.)

 

“It’s not so much that I have favorite stars,” Keith answered, gazing up at the sky carefully; if he looked up too fast, he was certain to lose his balance. “More so, I enjoy the stories attached to them. There’s so many, after all. I don’t even know all of them. Otherwise, the stars are the most consistent thing in our world. It’s just--comforting? Reassuring? To look up at them once in a while, especially when things are hard.”

 

To his surprise, the stranger laughed. “And you say you’re not at all artful.”

 

“I’m not,” Keith insisted.

 

“Very well, you’re not artful in the slightest,” the stranger relented. “Will you lead me in one more artless dance?”

 

Keith, feeling a mixture of trepidation and excitement (and perhaps a lingering drink or two), held out his hand in silent affirmation, a mirror of how the stranger had first asked him to dance. His mystery man placed his delicately gloved hand in Keith’s, and together they twirled away to the melody of their own laughter. Keith held the stranger close, and the stranger did not seem at all averse to it. Sometimes they stepped lively, sometimes slow and languid.

 

In the distance, the clock chimed an hour well past midnight. The masquerade was well and done by now, and the only people creeping about now were those with salacious rendezvous in mind. Keith knew that he wasn’t such a person, and was confident that this handsome stranger wasn’t either, and yet as they slowed their steps to a stand-still neither of them seemed eager to part.

 

The lace of the stranger’s glove was soft against Keith’s skin as the stranger traced the outline of his jaw. Keith leaned forward eagerly, hardly needing a hand to guide him. The man’s lips were soft and warm against Keith’s, and Keith buzzed with something other than champagne. There was a sweetness to the kiss, under all the simmering desire that blazed between them. Perhaps it was just the sweet wine they had both partaken of--Keith relished in the taste all the same.

 

The stranger pulled away first, leaving Keith to chase after his lips. He had to go; Keith did too, though he didn’t want to. But leave they both did, neither asking of the other’s true identity, and both wondering idly when the next masquerade would be held.

 

When Keith woke next the morning, it was with the ghost of a single kiss against his lips, and an unspoken wish for more buzzing just underneath his flushed skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by two pieces again, both brilliant and wonderful.  
> \--> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpUwDvgnBJ7/  
> \--> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpUwj0fni22/


	22. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to the vampire/werewolf AU for a first-time transformation that doesn't go at all how it's supposed to.

“You ready?”

 

Keith looked apprehensive, but took a deep, steadying breath. Lance waited patiently all the while.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

 

“Then let’s go.”

 

They’d had a whole month to prepare. Lance had done this dozens of times already with other young werewolves, but Keith wasn’t just another young werewolf. Even when the moon was new he still presented unmistakably wolfish traits, like the furry ears protruding out of his mess of hair that were twitching nervously. Lance was anxious about what might happen. What if Keith transformed and couldn’t turn back?

 

(Such was his worry that he’d gotten a wolfsbane charm, an amulet to reverse a werewolf’s transformation. It was harmless so long as it wasn’t worn for longer than a single night. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.)

 

When the raven had returned with a letter from Allura, Lance and Keith had both been eager to see what she had to say about Keith’s state. Unfortunately, for all her years, she had never heard of anything like this. She did promise them that she would look around for some answers, as she had access to far more resources than Lance did, but they had not heard back from her yet, and the full moon was that night. Lance had prepared Keith as best as he could, treating him as he would any other newly turned werewolf. He only hoped it would be enough.

 

Lance kept his head turned down under his wide brimmed hat. The last of the sun’s rays were still shining brightly, and it was just before sunset that was hardest for Lance. The sunlight was always somehow more intense as it dipped below the horizon, not entirely unlike water being forced through a narrowing opening. Still, Keith had to get to the forest before moonrise, and damnit Lance was going to be there for him. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was all too easy to tell that Keith was nervous.

 

The last of the sun was just disappearing once they reached the edge of the forest. Keith looked paler than usual, but that was pretty normal for a first transformation. Lance reached into his pocket to make sure that the wolfsbane charm was still there.

 

“So, uh,” Keith started, uneasy. “This is the part where I strip, right?”

 

Lance sputtered. “Right, right, just, step behind a tree or something, I’ll be right behind you if you need me. Remember, just relax and let it happen and--”

 

“Don’t try to fight it. Got it.”

 

Keith ducked behind a tree and set to preparing himself. In the distance, Lance saw a few other werewolves striding towards the woodline. Some of them waved at him; he waved back. He wondered briefly if maybe he should’ve gotten one of his werewolf buddies to come and reassure Keith. Come to think of it, why didn’t he have a werewolf stay at his home full time? It was too easy to reassure new vampires, given that Lance had personal experience with that change (not that that happened often anymore. He was the only vampire for miles and often discouraged others from turning humans to vampires). But new werewolves were understandably wary of a vampire’s advice on how best to handle the transition, and there wasn’t much he could say to settle their nerves.

 

Something to consider in the future, he decided.

 

“Lance?” he heard Keith call from around the tree.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Nothing…”

 

Lance suppressed a slight chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you all night.”

 

“What if I hurt you? Didn’t you say new werewolves are a little unpredictable?”

 

“I trust you not to hurt me,” Lance assured him. “But even if your wolf mind decides I’m a threat, there’s nothing you can do that I haven’t dealt with before. I’ve been doing this for a while, you know.”

 

“So you’ve said.”

 

A distant howl echoed in the distance. Lance heard Keith suck in a breath. He wanted to reassure him, remind him that it was normal for those newly turned to not immediately transform as the moon came up, but he held his tongue. By now he knew better than to chide overmuch; apparently it made Keith feel as though Lance though he couldn’t handle this, when in reality Lance was just worried. Worried that something might go wrong, worried that he hadn’t done everything he could to prepare Keith, worried that Keith might end up hurt because of a lack of preparation--

 

Behind the tree, he heard a telltale grunt of pain. A sharp hiss, an attempt to breathe normally. Lance wanted to be closer, to help Keith through this. First transformations were always hard, no matter how much he tried to prepare young wolves for them.

 

Soon enough the grunting and gasping turned to yips and whines, and Lance finally allowed himself to take a peek. If he were still able to breathe, he might’ve gasped aloud at what he saw.

 

Normally, werewolves weren’t much bigger in their wolf forms than their human ones. Maybe an inch or two in height and some added muscle, but nothing too terribly drastic. This, however, was closer to the monsters that featured in so many human fairy tales.

 

Keith was at least a foot taller, massive and looming even while still hunched over. His fur was as wild and unruly as his human hair was, and if Lance wasn’t so alarmed he might be tempted to pet it. It was no wonder that Keith was still whimpering in what was clearly pain--such a transformation was no doubt taxing. Lance reached in his pocket for the wolfsbane charm, but didn’t yet pull it out.

 

It didn’t take long for Keith to notice that Lance was there. He turned slowly towards Lance, keening slightly. He was still up on his hind legs and still hunched over. His deep violet eyes wavered, but looked directly at Lance, almost pleading.

 

“Are you… okay?” Lance asked.

 

Slowly, Keith shook his large, furry head. So he was still coherent. That was definitely not normal. Then, Keith whined and shook his head again.

 

“Keith?”

 

Here, Keith finally dropped down on all fours and approached Lance, nosing at the hand that was still in his pocket. He began pawing at it insistently, his whining very nearly piercing. It wouldn’t be long before other werewolves came to investigate. Being pack creatures, werewolves were quite eager to aid any of their own that was ailing. Unfortunately, if they saw Lance near a werewolf that was very clearly in pain, they might get the wrong idea.

 

He pulled out the wolfsbane charm.

 

“It’ll reverse your transformation,” Lance explained, gingerly patting Keith on the head. “Do you want to use it?”

 

Keith nodded, quite eagerly at that, and stood back on his hind legs, which were still somewhere in between human and wolf. His head was bent low for Lance. He wasted no time in looping the charm over Keith’s head. It took only a moment for the charm to do it’s work. Fur receded back into human skin, most wolf features faded in favor of human ones, and Keith shrank back to his normal height. When it was finally and fully reversed, his ears were still wolfish and his claws still present. He hugged himself tightly, a stranger in his own skin. Lance wasted no time in retrieving his clothes.

 

He said not a word as he dressed himself, and Lance let him have his silence. As he’d expected, a few werewolves had come to investigate. A few of them sniffed at Keith, whimpering slightly in sympathy. To them he was just a pup who’d had a rough time transforming. Keith turned away from them, especially as one went to sniff the charm against his chest. He hugged himself again.

 

“Keith,” Lance started gently.

 

“I can’t do this Lance,” Keith said abruptly. “I just can’t. Don’t tell me I can, or that I should.”

 

“I wasn’t. I won’t make you transform if you really don’t want to. There are some that don’t, and wear a wolfsbane charm every full moon. We can do that too, if you’d prefer.”

 

Keith wheeled on him suddenly, his expression vicious and more like that of a typical, newly turned werewolf.

 

“Why didn’t we just do that in the first place?!” he demanded.

 

Lance backed away, in case the charm somehow didn’t hold. “It’s healthier to have your cycle regularly! Most warlocks recommend that for every three months you skip you have one transformation--”

 

“I don’t care!” Keith shouted. “I can’t do that! I won’t do that, ever again! That was-- I hated that.”

 

“Okay, okay! But at least we know now, right?”

 

Keith huffed, turning away again. “Let’s just go.”

 

Lance frowned. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault that it had been such a painful experience for Keith. This was a new experience for everyone involved, after all. Still, Lance wished that there had been something he could’ve done to be more ready. He followed after Keith, feeling for the first time in decades as though he had well and truly failed someone who had been depending on him. It was lucky that he’d thought to have to charm on hand, but now Keith was angry with him.

 

But really, what else could he have possibly done to be ready for this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the lovely art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpteTMbhFhI/


	23. A Stolen Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince/knight AU returns again!

The war had been going on for some months now, all with Keith safe and sound and far away from the action. It needled at him occasionally, but he didn’t resent it like Lance sometimes worried he did. After all, Lance had given him the opportunity to refuse this position, and if Keith had truly not wanted to stay by his side, Keith would’ve taken that opportunity. Surely Lance knew better than to think that Keith would do something just because Lance wanted it. True, Lance was Keith’s prince, and Keith had sworn an oath to do as he was bid by him… okay so maybe he would do something if only because Lance ordered it. Stubborn and contrary he may be, but Keith was a loyal and good knight. It was, after all, why Lance had wanted him as his personal knight.

 

One of the reasons, at least.

 

Keith had been no stranger to Lance’s tendencies when the idea that he become Lance’s personal knight first came up. By then they were on friendly terms, and Keith knew that Lance would do anything to protect those he considered a friend. It irked Keith at first--he didn’t become a knight to be protected!--but Lance assured him that that wasn’t the case. It was a bold-faced lie, of course; Lance had been fidgety and restless until the moment Keith swore his vows to him. But Keith had accepted all the same, because when it came down to it, the idea that his sole purpose was now dedicated to keeping Lance safe helped him to rest a little easier.

 

Like now, for instance. Being the prince of a warring country, even the youngest of several, came with certain responsibilities, like inspecting fortifications along the border. Both of Lance’s older brothers were inspecting those along the main front to the south, and Princess Rachel was inspecting those in the east and half of those on the northern border, which left Lance to go to the rest of the ones in the north and all of those to the west. He’d decided, ultimately, to start westward, towards those places closer south. A wise decision, in Keith’s opinion. Should the front push any further over their borders, those would be the ones they wanted ready. Unfortunately, it meant an uncomfortably long journey on their part.

 

Being official princely business, his family had insisted that Lance take at least one carriage. Lance was reluctant, much preferring to ride on horseback with everyone else in his entourage, but the eldest princess, his sister Veronica, had been insistent. According to her, he was far too liable to get himself into trouble, not to mention he was more of a target on horseback. And knowing her baby brother all too well, she’d instructed Keith to ensure that Lance stayed in the carriage for at least most of the journey. Keith of course did everything in his power to follow her orders, but Lance was perhaps the most stubborn of the entire royal family. He’d refused to stay in the carriage for very long unless Keith stayed with him.

 

So that was where he was, peering out the window at the darkening landscape. They were very close to reaching the next down, where they would stop for the night, but Keith was impatient to be there already. He didn’t like being cooped up in a carriage any more than Lance did, but it had gotten Lance, who was now nodding off beside him, to stay put.

 

For all that the main purpose of this trip was to inspect the forts along the border, it was also an opportune time to take censuses, address any grievances, and other such menial tasks at every place they stopped. Indeed half their day already had been consumed by such things at the last place they’d stopped, and even after they’d left Lance had been going on several tangents intermittently for most of the day while looking over tedious paperwork (which he complained loudly about all the while). Now, it seemed, fatigue had finally caught up to him.

 

His head jerked up when they hit a bump in the road. Keith could already see him being dead on his feet once they reached the next town, and wouldn’t that make a great impression, for the youngest prince (who many people didn’t take all that seriously in the first place) to fall flat on his face from sheer exhaustion the instant he steps foot out of his carriage? Keith sighed, removing his left pauldron.

 

“Hey,” he said to Lance, holding out his left hand towards Lance. “Come here.”

 

Lance eyed Keith wearily. “What are you doing?”

 

“Giving you a chance to get a quick nap in. Just lean on me, I’ll make sure you don’t fall over,” Keith explained.

 

When Lance still didn’t move, Keith grabbed him and pulled him over. Lance snorted.

 

“Is that any way to treat your prince?” he teased lightly.

 

“It is when he won’t sleep.”

 

“Fine,” Lance relented. “But you’d better wake me well before we get there, I don’t want Lord what’s-his-face thinking I’m fooling around in here.”

 

“Lord Cartaine,” Keith reminded him gently. “And yes, I’ll make sure to wake you in time.”

 

“Don’t you fall asleep on me either,” Lance mumbled, turning his face into Keith’s shoulder.

 

“I won’t.”

 

Indeed he did not, not with his prince so intimately pressed against him, swiftly overtaken by sleep. Keith absently carded through Lance’s hair, and under his ministrations Lance breathed a deep sigh of contentment. Keith smiled fondly. He treasured moments like this, where the rest of the world around him and Lance seemed to just melt away, and they didn’t have to worry about wars or fussy noblemen or paperwork. Where he could imagine he didn’t have a duty to keep his prince safe at any and all costs, and that he could simply be with Lance without any worries.

 

But so long as Lance was a prince, there would always be worries, and Keith would always be there to help ease that burden in any way he could. Nothing, he told himself, could come between him and that duty.

 

Not even his own feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the marvelous art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BpwZAVHhmUt/


	24. The Possibility of You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the prince/knight AU, which takes place some time after Keith's injury...

Magic was a gift that was granted to many, but wielded by few, much in the way that anyone could pick up a sword. Only those who took the time to hone their skill could use it effectively. As such, it was a general rule that magic did not come unbidden, except in very rare cases where the magic in question was that of future sight. It was hotly debated whether future sight could be considered magic at all, given that, at it’s very root it was inherently different from the rest of known magic, but the fact that those gifted with it could train themselves to reliably see any number of possible futures, it remained a strange and mysterious magic, but a magic all the same.

 

Lance’s education regarding his gift had been nearly all-encompassing, especially when it had first been discovered. Don’t look into the future too often, he had been told. There are too many possibilities to keep track of, and people had gone mad trying to see them all, forgetting that time constantly progresses. With every passing second, every different choice made, countless new futures are born. Use it sparingly, a tool for desperate times. And he was never, ever to look into his own future.

 

Those were the rules.

 

Keith never worried about it during his time as Lance’s personal knight. Lance knew it far better than Keith could ever hope to, and so long as he didn’t lose himself in visions of possible futures, there was no reason for Keith to worry. No, he worried more about Lance doing something reckless, or taking on more work than he could reasonably handle. He had been more than content to worry over Lance like that, even happy. Because, really, who could be trusted to reel in Lance more than Keith? No one that Keith knew. He was even starting to think that maybe, just maybe, duty and desire didn’t have to be as separate as he’d always thought they should be.

 

As such, he’d been blindsided when Lance had released him from his duties as a personal knight to the youngest prince. It hurt even more than the sword that very nearly pierced his heart all those months ago. In the wake of such a devastating blow, Keith’s recovery was stilted and slow. Days he saw Lance were few and far between. No doubt that was a deliberate move on Lance’s part. Keith’s residence was still right next door to Lance’s, not to be moved until he was fully recovered. To miss someone that lived right next door was not a coincidence. It was a dull ache on the best of days, and on the worst ones it felt like the sword that had so narrowly missed it’s mark had returned, this time not missing.

 

When he did manage to see Lance, usually from a distance, what he saw did not convince him that Lance’s choice was a wise one. His usual vivacious energy was all but gone, replaced by slouched shoulders and bags under his eyes that a different Lance, a more familiar one, would be horrified by. He always seemed to be hurrying somewhere, keeping himself busy. Keith wouldn’t be able to get a word in with him even if he tried.

 

Slow as his recovery was, Keith recovered all the same. His first day back in the training yard was a difficult one, but Keith welcomed it. There hadn’t been much for him to do while he healed except lose himself in his thoughts. Here, he could forget everything, imagine that the only horrible thing to happen lately was him nearly dying. He returned to his quarters late, sweat soaked and itching to get his armor off. He was just passing Lance’s door (perhaps a little more slowly than he’d been walking), when he saw a mysterious flash of blue light spilling out from under the door.

 

Keith stopped in his tracks. There was only one thing that could be making a light like that, but why would Lance be practicing magic at this late hour? Unless…

 

Suddenly Lance’s fatigue as of late seemed far more alarming than it had been just a moment ago.

 

Before he could spare another thought to it, Keith found his hand on the doorknob, carefully and quietly turning it. He crept into the room with practiced grace, though it was difficult being as tired as he was. Luckily, Lance’s back was turned to the door, and he seemed far too engrossed with whatever he was doing to notice Keith creeping up behind him.

 

Keith tip-toed farther into the room and peered around Lance. Indeed, in his lap sat that crystal ball that Keith had often seen gathering dust, newly polished and alight with the future. Magic swirled in and around it, guided by Lance’s practiced hands. Within the glass were two figures locked in a tight embrace. One figure Keith recognized immediately as Lance--how could he not? The other one he couldn’t place immediately, covered as it was by Lance’s hand. It wrenched at his heart, but he reassured himself--this was only one possibility of many. A possibility that Lance seemed intent on lingering on.

 

Finally, Lance moved his hand from in front of the other figure, and Keith had to stifle a gasp. For though there was a scar on his face that wasn’t present now, that person so tenderly holding Lance in this possible future was himself! Keith’s heart stuttered in such a way that his still-healing wound throbbed slightly, but still he remained silent, entranced by this future he had hoped for all along.

 

A sniff dragged Keith’s attention away from the crystal, followed by a telltale shuddering of shoulders. A tear dropped onto the surface of the glass, and rolled speedily away.

 

“Lance?”

 

It slipped from his lips before he could even think to stop himself. Lance jumped, the crystal ball nearly falling from his lap. He grasped it tightly as he whirled around, the vision extinguished and his expression dark. Keith was suddenly and acutely aware that he’d just called his prince by his name with no titles attached whatsoever after blatantly intruding in his room. And Lance did not look at all pleased to see him.

 

“What are you doing here, Sir?” Lance asked with a pointed glare.

 

“Your Highness, I apologize,” Keith answered hastily. “I saw the light from you magic and I was… concerned.”

 

“You’re no longer obligated to be concerned for me, so if you would please--”

 

“Obligation or no, I’m concerned all the same,” Keith interrupted.

 

“I don’t need you to be.”

 

Lance turned away from him, a silent dismissal, and clutched the crystal ball as a child might cling to a blanket after a nightmare. Keith did not leave. Nor did he plan to, not before saying what needed to be said.

 

“How many times in these last few months have you looked into the future?”

 

“None of your concern,” Lance mumbled.

 

“On the contrary, it’s very much my concern,” Keith insisted, walking over to Lance and kneeling beside him. “Not as someone with a sworn duty, but as someone who cares for you.”

 

Lance kept his face turned away from Keith. “You shouldn’t.”

 

“Shouldn’t what?”

 

“Care for me,” Lance stated, his voice nearly inaudible.

 

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re a wonderful prince, and an even more wonderful person--why should I not care for you?”

 

“Because--” Lance sniffed loudly. “Because in all the futures I’ve seen, those where we’re… together, always end up with you getting hurt on my account.”

 

“Are you so certain that it’s entirely your fault? After all, I am a knight. It’s inevitable that I get hurt once in a while.”

 

Lance did not say anything. Keith sighed, and placed one of his hands over Lance’s.

 

“My prince,” he began slowly. “To love is to put your heart at risk. I have loved you for so long that it felt as natural as breathing, as the beating of my own heart even--and then you told me that I should not be at your side any longer, and it was like I had to teach my heart to beat all over again.

 

“Even now I would love you, should you allow it, even knowing that at any moment you might cast me aside. I care not for those painful futures, be they near and inevitable or far off and unlikely. I would withstand a thousand heartbreaking futures if it meant I could have you for even a moment in the present.

 

“I know you know far better than I do how terrifying the future might be. I won’t ask you to be here with me if you truly don’t want it, but at the very least, please don’t lose yourself amongst all those possibilities.”

 

By then Keith had taken Lance’s hand in both of his, practically pleading with Lance. Still, Lance’s gaze was averted. Keith’s plea was suspended in the silence. Any moment now Lance might order him to leave, command that he should never even look at him again, and Keith would have no choice but to obey. Keith could only hope that his words reached Lance.

 

Suddenly Keith being pushed back onto the floor, Lance having practically thrown himself on him. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck, crying freely. The crystal ball had fallen to the floor with a dull thunk.

 

Keith had never been very able in helping with tears, but he did his best now, holding Lance close and running gloved fingers through his hair in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He moved them both so they were sitting up, Lance practically on Keith’s lap. Keith found himself wishing that he’d taken off his armor before sneaking in here.

 

“I keep seeing you--” Lance gasped. “In my nightmares--my own sword, used against you--all because I wanted you close!”

 

Keith hushed him gently. “That wasn’t your fault. If it wasn’t here, protecting you, it would’ve been in the war, protecting the kingdom.”

 

“I hate that! Why couldn’t you have been an ordinary nobleman?!”

 

Keith hummed, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t change the way things have come to be, even if I could. After all, the path I took led me to you.”

 

“Being a nobleman could’ve led you to me.”

 

“Certainly. But I was born a younger son, not an older. And as I’ve said, I wouldn’t change the path fate has taken for anything.”

 

Lance did not say anything for a long while. His crying tapered off and ceased, but his head remained nestled in the crook of Keith’s neck. Keith had to resist squeezing Lance as tightly as he could, elated to finally have him in his arms, though the circumstances weren’t ideal. He was still keenly aware (and afraid) that Lance could simply turn him away and act as though this had never happened. Keith hoped he wouldn’t.

 

Finally, Lance pulled back slightly, so as to meet Keith eye to eye.

 

“If we’re to move forward together, you’re going to promise me two things,” he said, every bit a confident prince determined to have his way.

 

“And what would those things be?” Keith asked as his heart practically pounded it’s way out of his chest.

 

“Firstly,” Lance started. “You have to make the pain in the future worth it.”

 

“Done, so long as you do the same.”

 

Lance gave him a look, and Keith huffed a laugh. “My prince, do you really think there’s nothing in this world you could do that would cause me pain?”

 

“Fine, fine, fine, but that’s the second thing!” Lance said hurriedly. “When it’s just the two of us, you’re not to call me by any titles or use any formalities! When it’s just the two of us, I’m just Lance.”

 

“Does that mean when it’s just the two of us, you can’t tell me what to do?”

 

Lance pouted, and Keith laughed. He leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against Lance’s, looking directly into those deep blue eyes in a way he’d only ever dreamed of.

 

“Lance,” Keith said. “I promise that whatever pain may come in the future, I’ll give you ten times the amount of happiness.”

 

“And I’ll do the same for you,” Lance promised. “More happiness than you know what to do with.”

 

“Whatever future may come, so long as we’re together, we can face it,” Keith further assured him.

 

“Alright, alright, I get it, live in the present, the power of love and all that stuff!” Lance sputtered, suddenly shy.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Do I what?”

 

“Love me?”

 

Lance made a face. “I should think that the answer is pretty apparent. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? In the crystal ball?”

 

“I don’t want to see it in a crystal ball, I want to hear it from your lips. Do you love me?” Keith insisted.

 

Lance took a deep breath, moving one hand to caress Keith’s cheek. It was indeed all too apparent, with every movement, every glance, even every breath, what the answer was. Keith wanted to hear it all the same.

 

“Yes, Keith. I love you. And I was a fool to listen to you when you told me to wait to say it.”

 

“Oh so this is my fault now?”

 

Lance laughed brightly, every bit his old self. “Yes, it absolutely is your fault!”

 

Keith snorted. “Fine, I’ll allow it this one time.”

 

“Oh, you’ll allow it? Remind me who the prince is here?”

 

Keith made a show of looking around. “No princes that I can see. Just me and you.”

 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Lance bemoaned dramatically.

 

Keith pulled him even closer, such that the slightest movement would bring their lips together.

 

And they did indeed brush past each other as Keith said, “No, you won’t. I’ll see to that personally.”

 

It was hard to say which one of them moved first, but in the next breath they were kissing, clumsy and eager. It felt right in a way that was almost familiar, like they were meant to come together in this way all along. Perhaps later Keith might wonder how many possible futures Lance had seen where they didn’t end up like this, but right then, the future was the furthest thing from his thoughts.

 

For this moment alone was worth more than any future, no matter what it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the excellent art that inspired this story here --> https://www.instagram.com/p/BqOVOMsA0Ho/

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So apparently adding images isn't as easy as I thought, that or they need to be from a different source--they'll join the stories soon enough.
> 
> In the meantime, here's the link to the art that inspired this story --> https://www.instagram.com/p/Boa-bCdnof2/  
> Go check it out and give the artist some love!


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